


Repaying Debts

by Raerah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family time, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Repaying Life Debts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raerah/pseuds/Raerah
Summary: The war is over, the rebuilding has started.Draco miraculously made it out of the war alive, and perhaps even more miraculously, managed to stay out of Azkaban. He hated that he owes it to Harry Potter of all people, but that's what his life is about, isn't it? There's only one way for him to get rid of the Boy Who Lived once and for all—to  repay all the debts he owes the insufferable idiot.Potter doesn't make it an easy task, though, and refuses Draco's attempts. When he starts suggesting ways for Draco to get even—alarming ways, such as spending time with a blue-haired baby—Draco goes along begrudgingly until he realizes the impossible has happened.He's actually enjoying himself.





	1. Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction work, so hopefully it doesn't suck too much. I'll try to update it at least once a week, but real life being what it is, I'm not sure I'll be able to stick to it. I'll do my best, though!  
> The story will be fairly fluffy and not too long--maybe 20000 to 30000 words? I have the main points plotted, but I'm not sure how I'll get from point A to point B, so I don't exclude it might be shorter or longer.
> 
> J.K. Rowling and Associates own these characters. I'm just borrowing them to play.

Harry stared at the box on the table.

“What do you think it is?” Ron asked.

“No idea.”

“Open it.”

“And have it explode in my face like the last one? I don’t think so. You’re welcome to open it if you want to know what’s in it so badly, though.”

Ron grimaced. “I don’t think Mione would forgive me if I got messed up just before we leave for Australia.”

Right. Ron and Hermione were leaving for Australia the following week. Harry had almost managed to forget about that, with everything that had happened since May. They were going to retrieve Hermione’s parents and hopefully to fix their memories. They asked Harry to go with them, and he’d been seriously tempted to say yes. He hadn’t, though.

Hermione and Ron had just started dating, or whatever it was they were doing. They’d slipped so seamlessly from being friends to being more that sometimes Harry had a hard time remembering it. Then he walked in on them kissing in the living room, or worse.

Which was why Harry would be staying in London. He was happy for them, but he didn't need to watch them slobbering all over each other. Besides, they probably wouldn’t mind the time alone. They’d never said anything, but he was sure they couldn’t wait. Sharing a house with him wasn’t making things easy on their budding relationship.

“How did the owl make it through the wards anyway?” Ron asked.

Harry looked at the owl. The owl stared back from its perch on one of the kitchen chairs. “No idea.”

“You’re sure you don’t know who it’s from?”

“No. There’s no note or anything. I can’t exactly interrogate the owl now, can I?”

“You could open the box. Or maybe ask Kreacher to do it for you.”

“You know how Hermione would take that.”

“Yeah. Best not to, then.”

They stared at the box again.

“The owl is still here,” Ron pointed out as if Harry hadn’t noticed.

“I know.”

“It’s probably waiting for an answer.”

“I know.”

“So you probably need to open the box.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry was curious. He’d had to ward the house carefully after the final battle when everyone had realized the war was over and had started writing to him and sending him stuff. It was usually innocuous—sweets, letters to thank him, things like that—but sometimes, something weirder or more dangerous got to the house, like that time the box had exploded in Harry's face. He’d been quick with his protective spell, thankfully, but the kitchen table still sported a black mark.

Nothing should be able to pass through the wards, except for what came from people he’d himself authorized. There weren’t many—Hermione, the Weasleys, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid. Harry didn’t really want to hear from anyone else, and he especially didn’t want to have to read dozens of marriage proposals and even more to have his babies.

What people thought, he didn't know, and he didn't want to find out.

He nodded and reached for the box. “Be ready with the protective spell.”

Ron nodded back and held his wand out, and Harry focused on the box.

It was pretty—chocolate brown with a golden knot on top of it. He pulled on the string and unraveled it, then wrapped his fingers around the top of the box and slowly opened it.

He stepped back quickly, but nothing happened.

He looked at Ron. They both looked at the now open box and peered inside.

“Chocolate?” Ron wondered.

The box was filled with it. Row after row of tiny, beautiful chocolates. “Looks like it.”

“Who’d send you chocolate?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t the first time Harry got chocolate, far from it, but it was the first time the chocolates were so pretty. It would be a pity to eat them, really.

“Check the box to see if there’s a note.”

There was. It was tucked against the side of the box, cream paper folded in half. Harry slid it out and opened it, blinking at the words.

_I know this isn’t enough to repay my debts, but it’s the best I can do for now. Try not to eat the entire box in one go. They’re worth a small fortune._

_D.M._

“What’s it say?” Rom asked, already pushing a tiny chocolate-sculpted rose into his mouth.

Harry handed over the note and looked at the chocolates again. It was true he’d been tempted to eat all of them, or at least to try one of each just to see if they were as good as pretty, but the note made him bristle anyway.

“Who’s D.M.?” Ron asked.

“No idea.”

“Who do we know with those initials?”

“You should ask Hermione, not me.”

“And what about those debts?”

“I don’t know, Ron.” Harry didn’t want anyone to owe him anything. He’d done what he had to do during the war, was still doing what he had to do—going to Ministry balls and ceremonies he hated, helping with the reconstruction at Hogwarts. No one owed him anything, not when it came to the war.

He wished people understood that.

 

****

 

Draco glared at the window, wondering where on earth his owl was. He should have known Potter wouldn’t have the decency to be quick about the whole ridiculous situation. He was probably still rolling around on the floor laughing.

Draco shook his head and stepped away from the window.

He didn't care what Potter thought of him and the way he was trying to repay his debts. He wouldn’t have cared about the debts either, but he had to repay them before he could go on with his life. That was the Pureblood way, but most of all, it was the Malfoy way—never owe anyone anything if you can help it.

And Merlin knew Draco owed Potter for too many things. Potter had saved the entire wizarding world, including Draco—and that was one. He’d saved Draco’s life in the Room of Requirement—and that was two. He’d been there at the trials, had talked in Draco’s favor and convinced the Wizengamot Draco shouldn’t go to Azkaban—and that was three.

Three debts, two of them life-debts, although it could be argued all three would have eventually ended with Draco dead.

Draco thought there were probably more occasions in which Potter had somehow helped him survive, but he didn’t like to think about them. He’d find himself with dozens of debts to pay, and that was the last thing he needed or wanted.

A hoot made Draco turn to the window. His owl was there, perched on the sill, looking at him. There was a tiny roll of parchment tied to its leg, and Draco swiftly freed it, patting the owl on the head and absently handing it an owl treat from the bag he kept under the window sill.

The owl hooted again and flew away once he’d had its snack, and Draco unrolled the parchment.

_No offense, but I have no idea who you are. D.M. aren’t exactly the best way to sign if you want someone to recognize you. Try using your full name next time, yeah?_

_By the way, the chocolates were good. Ron ate more than half the box, but I managed to get a few before Mione confiscated them. Something about not learning from the past._

A big splotch of ink separated the first two paragraphs from the rest of the letter. Draco wrinkled his nose at the untidiness, but he read on.

_Look, like I said, I don’t know who you are, although you obviously know me well enough. What I wanted to say is that you don’t owe me anything. I don’t know what you think you owe me, and I don’t want to know. I did what I had to do during the war, that’s all. But thanks for the chocolate._

_Harry Potter._

Draco crumbled the letter.

How dare he. How dare Potter be so—so _Potter_? How could he not realize Draco was the one who’d written to him?

Granted, it wasn’t like Draco had ever written to him before, but still. How many people did Potter know whose initials were D.M.? And why had he let the weasel eat all the chocolate and the know-it-all steal what remained of it? If Potter didn’t eat the chocolate, it meant Draco hadn’t even made a dent in the pile of debts he owed the idiot.

So the chocolate hadn’t worked. Not that Draco had expected it to, but he’d had to start somewhere, and it had seemed a better idea than most of the others he’d had.

It was time to try something else, though.

 

 


	2. Galleons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is still trying to find something Harry will accept as payment for his debts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I didn't expect anyone to actually read this, let alone leave me kudos! Thank you <3

The owl was back.

Harry still didn’t know how it managed to get past the wards, but since it was the only one who’d managed it, he wasn’t worried. Well, not too much anyway. Definitely not enough to abandon his breakfast and go find Hermione, who was still in the room she shared with Ron. The last thing Harry wanted was to interrupt whatever they were doing.

Hermione had screamed at him and Ron when she’d found out they hadn’t even checked the chocolates for potions and poisons. Granted, she’d been right after what had happened to Ron in sixth year, but Harry had thought that with the war over he wouldn’t have to worry about being poisoned anymore. Then Hermione had pointed out that a love potion could be sent to him just as easily, and he’d had a horrible vision of him marrying some woman he didn’t know.

He’d promised he’d be more careful, and he hadn’t touched the chocolates, not even after Hermione had checked them for every potion she could think of.

But he’d forgotten about the way the owl had bypassed the house’s wards, until now.

“So. You’re back,” he told the owl, who was perched onto one of the kitchen chairs and staring at him.

The owl hooted and stuck its leg out. A small parcel was tied to it, and the owl continued to stare until Harry finally got up. It stayed still as Harry untied the parcel, and like the day before, it stayed right where it was, waiting for Harry’s answer.

Harry sighed and sat back down. The parcel had been shrunk, so he grabbed his wand from the table and unshrunk it. He frowned at the pouch because he recognized it. He was given a similar pouch every time he went to Gringotts to retrieve money.

There was a note stuck to the front of the pouch, and Harry took it.

_Potter,_

_You’re an idiot. We were in school together for six years. How can you not recognize my initials? I suppose it was stupid of me to expect anything from you, but I thought you’d be at least able to accept a gift with grace._

_I was obviously wrong._

_Since you apparently didn't enjoy the chocolates I chose for you, I hope this will be more acceptable. It doesn’t cover the life debts I owe you, but I can make sure the goblins over at Gringotts transfer more of it if you agree to this._

_Draco Malfoy_

The signature was underlined several times as if Malfoy had wanted to make sure Harry knew who he was.

Which of course he did.

He just couldn’t believe Malfoy of all people felt like he owed him something. He’d have thought Malfoy to be too proud to admit something like that, not that he thought anyone owed him anything.

But still. Draco Malfoy sending him chocolates was something he’d never thought he’d see.

And now this. Harry hadn’t checked the pouch yet, but he was pretty sure he knew what was inside, and there was no way he was accepting that from anyone, let alone Malfoy.

He put the note down and reached for the pouch. It was heavy, and his eyes bulged when he saw how many galleons it contained.

He didn't even count them. He closed the pouch again and got up to go grab a quill and some parchment to answer Malfoy’s note.

When he got back to the kitchen, Hermione was there, leaning against the counter, staring at the owl. She looked up when he entered the room, arching a brow. “Is this yesterday’s owl?”

“Yep.”

“The one who brought the chocolates?”

“Yeah.”

She tilted her chin toward the table. “And that’s what he brought today?”

Harry nodded and sat at the table, he pushed the note toward Hermione, silently giving her the authorization to read it as he stared at his blank parchment and thought of what to write.

When Hermione was done reading, she hummed.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Well, it makes sense.”

“What makes sense? Because honestly, nothing does, not to me anyway.”

“How the owl managed to pass the wards, for one.”

Harry leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to go upstairs to the library and try to find a book about wards.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who’s Malfoy?”

Harry blinked. “Hermione? Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Answer the question.”

“He’s the git we’ve spent six years in school with. You know, the one who became a Death Eater?” Saying those words threatened to reopen old wounds, but Harry managed to keep then thoughts away, at least for now.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“well, you’re going to have to spell it out for me, because I can’t see it.”

“He’s a Black. The last Black, actually, unless you count his mother, and I guess Teddy. Although Teddy’s Black blood is more diluted since he’s Andromeda’s grandson and not her son.”

“I know Malfoy’s a Black.”

“And Grimmauld Place is the Black’s house. The Black family put up the wards on the house, the wards you activated once you moved in here. The wards that keep most of the owls outside, but not the ones who belong to the Black family.”

“Oh.”

Hermione smiled and sat down in front of Harry. She poked at the pouch, wrinkling her nose at the sound the galleons made.

“Is there a way to block this owl from entering?”

“Probably, but you’ll have to find it yourself. You know Ron and I are leaving in a few days, and I don’t have the time to look for information in the library.”

Hermione saying on to research would have shocked Harry any other day, but she was right. She’d be leaving soon. At least Harry would have something to do while she and Ron were gone.

“Are you going to accept it?”

Harry shook his head. “No. You know I don’t need money.” He had more than enough of it to live comfortably for the rest of his life. He didn't need Malfoy’s money. He didn't need anyone’s money.

“Mmm.”

“What?”

“Well, you know he’s just going to try to send you something else, right?”

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s trying to repay a life debt.”

“Two.” Or was it three? Harry didn't really care.

Hermione waved his words away. “The number doesn’t matter. He’s trying to repay you a life debt, and he won’t stop trying until you finally accept. You can send the money back, but he’ll probably try to force you to accept it. He has to.”

“But why? I mean, I don’t like him, and he doesn’t like me. Wouldn’t it be easier for both of us to forget about this and go on with our lives?”

“It would, but he’s a Pureblood. I read somewhere that they take repaying debts very seriously. He can’t avoid repaying it because it would tarnish his name.”

Harry laughed. “I think it’s a little late for that. The Malfoy name is already tarnished enough as it is.”

“Maybe, but it’s not going to stop him. You know him, Harry. He’s as stubborn as you are.”

 

****

 

The pouch was still tied to Archibald’s leg.

Draco took a deep breath and counted to ten before reaching out and untying it. He fed his owl a treat before unshrinking the pouch and the new piece of folded parchment that had arrived with it.

Malfoy,

You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t defeat Voldemort for you. I defeated him for the entire wizarding world and for me. And I saved your life as much for me as for you. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d let you die, or if I’d let the Wizengamot throw you in Azkaban.

So keep your galleons. I don’t need them.

Harry Potter.

Draco crumbled the parchment and threw it into the empty fireplace. So Potter was too good to accept what Draco was trying to give him. Draco should have known. Potter had always thought he was too good for Draco—and for everyone else apart from his precious little Gryffindor friends and his precious little Weasley girlfriend.

And now he was the Boy Who Lived To Make Draco’s Life Hell.

Draco had to find something Potter would accept, something he wouldn’t be able to send back.

But what?

Draco strode to the mirror in his closet and checked his hair, pushing a few strands into place before going to find his mother. If anyone knew what to send Potter, it would be her.

Of course, she’d also tried to make Draco talk to the irritating git after he'd convinced the Wizengamot to let both of them go, but Draco thought it had probably been a momentary craziness due to the relief of being finally free.

Draco’s mother was in her private sitting room, drinking tea and ignoring the toast on her plate in favor of the book in her hand. They didn't usually eat breakfast together, as Draco was used to waking up earlier than her thanks to the past six years of having to do so to go to class.

She looked up when he entered, and his chest squeezed painfully. She was still too thin, so much more than he’d ever seen her, and the war had left its signs. Her eyes were bright, and she was smiling, but he could tell she hadn’t been sleeping well, the dark shadows under her eyes all the proof he needed. She looked tired, but also happy, and Draco owed Potter for that if nothing else.

“Draco. Have you come to eat breakfast with me?”

Maybe he should have. He’d have been able to make sure she ate enough, although he knew better than to push her. If Narcissa Malfoy didn’t want to do something, no one would be able to force her.

Well, no one except the Dark Lord.

“Good morning, Mother. I’ve already eaten, thank you.”

“Sit down,” she said, gesturing toward the armchair in front of hers. “What brings you here? I didn't think I’d see you until at least lunchtime.”

Draco took a moment to think about the best way to phrase his request. “I’d like to ask your opinion on something.”

Her smile widened. She liked it when he needed her. She didn't realize it happened more often than she thought. “I’m listening.”

“I’m trying to give Potter what I owe him. To repay my debts.” Draco could still feel the warmth, the fire licking at his heels as he clung to Potter.

He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that, not again. _Never_ again.

“You’ve talked to him?” his mother asked, distracting him. She sounded delighted as if she’d been waiting for it to happen.

“No. I used Archibald to send him chocolate and galleons, but he let the weasel eat the sweets and sent the galleons back. He said he didn’t need them.” Draco huffed. Why couldn’t Potter make his life easier rather than harder for once?

His mother tsked. “Really, Draco. You should know him better than that after all the time you spent observing him over the past six years.”

Draco sputtered. “I did _not_ observe him.”

She smiled at him. “Of course not.”

“I don’t know what to send him, Mother. He needs to keep it, or I’ll never be able to repay my debts, but a box of chocolate isn’t enough.”

“He won’t accept anything, not anything material.”

“Then what should I buy him?” Who would have thought repaying debts would be so hard. He should have imagined it, with the way his father always insisted Malfoys didn't have debts. Besides, it was Potter they were talking about. When had anything been easy with him?

His mother sighed. “You won’t listen to me. Why are you asking me for advice if you won’t at least consider it?”

He wouldn’t listen to her if her advice was to befriend the bespectacled git.

“I just want this to be over as soon as possible.”

She hummed. “I heard he’s living in the old Black house.”

“He is.”

“The last time I’ve been there must have been at least fifteen years ago. The house was already in need of repairs, and I can’t imagine things are better now.”

Draco frowned. “You want me to buy him a new house?” It was actually a good idea, but even he knew Potter wouldn’t accept it.

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Of course not. His Godfather left him the house. He won’t leave it. But you can send someone who will help him clean and repair it.”

Draco thought about it. That idea was better than anything he’d come up with. It was certainly better than a box of chocolate, no matter how good they were.

It wouldn’t repay the life debts Draco owed Potter, but if Potter accepted, it would be a good step in that direction.


	3. Tibby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is still trying to find a way to repay his debts, but Harry, being the git he is, makes Draco's life harder by refusing Draco's new idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! I got my first comments on the last chapters! This is going so much better than I thought it would, so thanks to everyone reading :)
> 
> I'm not too sure about the house elf speech in this chapter, and I might be half asleep right now, so I hope there aren't too many mistakes and typos. I really wanted to get the chapter out, though :)
> 
>  
> 
> J.K. Rowling and Associates own these characters. I'm just borrowing them to play.

Harry almost suffocated himself with a bite of toast when the house elf popped into the kitchen. He sputtered and reached for his napkin, tears prickling his eyes. The house elf—a tiny thing wearing what looked like a child’s sweater, pink with might have been a unicorn on the front—squeaked and rushed to Harry’s side, snapping her—or was it is? It was so hard to tell house elves—fingers and making a glass of water appear from out of nowhere.

“Master Harry Potter is to drink!”

She thrust the glass into Harry’s hands, and Harry gratefully accepted it. He drank half and coughed, and the elf pushed a clean napkin into his hand.

“Thank you,” Harry finally managed to say.

The elf nodded seriously. “Master Harry Potter is to be more careful.”

“Uh, I will. I’m sorry, who are you?”

The house elf puffed her chest and straightened her floppy ears. There were pink bows on them. “I is Tibby, Harry Potter, Sir.”

That didn’t tell Harry much, and it reminded him too much of another elf, one who wasn’t there anymore. “Can I ask you what you’re doing here, Tibby?”

“Master sent Tibby.”

“Master?” Harry groaned. It couldn’t be. Right?

Tibby nodded, her long ears flapping around her face. “Master Draco.”

Of course Malfoy was the one who’d sent Tibby. The prat lived to make Harry’s life hell. “You need to go back home, Tibby.”

Tibby’s eyes narrowed. “Tibby is a gift. Master Draco tell Tibby to clean Master Harry Potter’s home.” She wrinkled her nose and looked around the kitchen in a way Harry wouldn’t have thought possible coming from a house elf. She wasn’t hiding how disapproving she was, and she wasn’t trying to bash her head in as punishment.

Not even Dobby had managed that, not in the beginning.

Harry had to admit the kitchen had seen better days. Ron and Hermione were leaving for Australia later that day, and they’d gotten up early to have breakfast. Their plates and empty mugs were in the sink, along with the dishes they’d used the night before at dinner. There was a basket full of laundry at the end of the long table, stuff Hermione would probably come by to gather and pack, although she’d have to wash it again since Crookshanks was sleeping on top of it.

“I don’t need you to clean anything,” Harry said anyway because he really didn’t need a house elf to fold his underwear. “I need you to go back to Malfoy. Tell him I stand by everything I wrote in my last letter. I don’t need anything from him.”

Tibby tsked loudly enough for Harry to hear it.

Harry stared.

Tibby stared back.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen a house elf be so openly disapproving of a wizard. Where had Malfoy found Tibby? She was obviously free since she was wearing decent clothes rather than tea towels or whatever it was owned house elves wore, and Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy employed free elves or buying that truly horrible unicorn sweater.

“Tibby is not leaving,” Tibby said, crossing her thin arms over his chest. “Tibby was given work to do, and Tibby is doing it.”

Harry huffed and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t need you to clean anything,” he tried again without too much hope it would work this time.

Tibby looked around again and wrinkled her nose. “Tibby is needed.”

Harry couldn’t exactly deny that, but he wasn’t about to let Tibby do anything. If he needed a house elf, he could call Kreacher. The elf was still at Hogwarts, helping with the rebuilding and whatever else house elves did.

Tibby was harder to send back to Malfoy than a bunch of galleons, though. Harry didn’t know where Malfoy had found her, but she was obviously stubborn. Stubborn, or scared.

Harry cleared his throat. “Uh, Tibby? What will happen if I send you back? Will you have to punish yourself?” He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to order something like that.

Tibby’s eyes went so wide they looked like two small plates. “No, no, no! Tibby is not punished.”

“You won’t be. I won’t sent you back to Malfoy if that’s what he does to you.”

Tibby shook her head, ears flopping everywhere. “Master Draco not punish Tibby. Master Draco is a sweet boy.”

Harry gaped. He thought a lot of things when he thought about Malfoy—arrogant git, pretentious ferret, spoiled prat, proud and pointy, and okay, maybe even a little sexy—but sweet was not one of them.

Tibby seemed offended by what Harry had suggested, even though it had been a legitimate concern. Harry might have thought Malfoy didn’t deserve Azkaban, but it didn't mean he thought the git was an angel. Besides, he’d seen how the Malfoys treated Dobby.

Still, he didn’t want to anger Tibby, so he raised his hands, hoping the gesture would be enough to sooth her, and made a mental note not to insult Malfoy in front of her.

That was going to be the hardest thing to do in Harry’s day.

“Look, I appreciate you being here, but I already told your master I don’t need help or anything else from him. You need to go back and tell him that.”

Tibby—Harry thought she was a girl. He was almost a hundred percent sure. Maybe ninety—stomped her foot. He would have asked what she was since he couldn’t even rely on what she was wearing, what with house elves’ sense of fashion being what it was. Besides, he didn't want to get her even angrier.

“Master Draco send Tibby to help,” Tibby said, glaring at Harry. “Tibby helps.” She turned around and waved her hand at one of the chairs around the table. It hovered toward the sink and Tibby jumped onto it as soon as it was close enough. Then she leaned forward and waved her hand again, and the brush in the sink went to work on their own, cleaning the plates.

Harry groaned and thumped his forehead against the table. He wasn’t getting anywhere with Tibby, and that could mean only one thing—if he wanted to get rid of her, to send her back home, he was going to have to talk to Malfoy.

 

****

 

Draco was happy. Positively gleeful.

It was almost lunchtime, and he was relaxing in the sitting room, sipping tea and chatting with Blaise, and Tibby was nowhere to be seen.

He’d sent her to Potter earlier that morning with the order to stay with the prat and help him in any way she could. He’d half expected Tibby to be back within half an hour—and he would have been happy about it.

She’d taken care of him since she was a child, had been the only being he’d talked with most of the days before he’d gone to Hogwarts and during the war when Draco had voluntarily isolated himself as often as he could. He would have missed her back then, and he would miss her now, even though the war was over.

But that was what repaying debts was about. You didn't want to do it, yet you had to.

But Tibby still hadn’t come back, and that had to mean Potter had accepted her.

“You look happy,” Blaise said. “Almost disturbingly so. I could have sworn you were even smiling.”

Draco ignored him and sipped on his tea.

“No, seriously. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

Blaise snorted. “You look like you managed to steal the candy off a first year, which wouldn’t surprise me considering it’s you we’re talking about, but we’re not at Hogwarts, so. What is it?”

Draco decided he might as well tell Blaise. Blaise wouldn’t shut up until he got answers, and Draco didn't particularly want to have to listen to him prattle. They might be friends, but they weren’t that close. “Tibby hasn’t come back.”

Blaise blinked. “Tibby?”

“My house elf.” Or rather, Perfect Potter’s house elf.

“And that makes you happy because…”

“Because I sent her to Potter as payment for my debts. It doesn’t cover everything, of course, but at least he hasn’t tried to send her back like he didn’t with the galleons.”

Blaise stared.

Draco fought the urge to wiggled in his seat—Malfoys didn’t wiggle—and narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “What?”

“You sent your personal house elf, the one who’s been with you since you were a toddler, to Potter?”

“Yes.”

“As payment for the debts you owe him. After he refused your galleons.”

“I don’t see why you have to repeat what I say, but yes.”

Blaise shook his head. “There were easier ways to get into Potter’s trousers, Draco.”

The sip of tea Draco had been swallowing almost sprayed out of his nose. He coughed and pressed his napkin to his face, wondering if he might be able to drown Blaise into the tea left in the teapot. “Why would you say something like so—so vile?”

Blaise snickered. “Well for one, your face was enough of a reward, but it wasn’t just for that.” He sobered, his grin dimming and telling Draco how serious Blaise was. “The war is over, Draco. You don’t have to pine for Potter from afar anymore. You can just go up to him and ask him if he wants to shag."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Anyway, you of all people should have known Pooter wouldn't accept galleons. I mean, you've seen his clothes. It's obvious he doesn't know how to use money.”

Luckily for Draco, Pip chose that moment to appear in the sitting room, interrupting the conversation. Draco smiled at the house elf and Pip took a step back. Had Draco looked that manic? Probably. “What is it?” he asked.

“Harry Potter is being at the gate, Master Draco.”

Blaise burst out laughing. Draco gritted his teeth and reminded himself he didn't have enough friends to allow him to kill one. He turned his attention back to Pip. “At the gate?”

“With Tibby, Master Draco.”

Blaise was still snickering in his armchair, and Draco was having a hard time ignoring him. “Have you told my mother, Pip?” Maybe she’d take care of Potter. She was the lady of the manor after all.

“Mistress Narcissa is being busy, Master Draco.”

Of course she was.

“You’re going to have to go talk to him,” Blaise pointed out. At least he’d finally stopped laughing.

“You’re not coming with me.”

Blaise pouted. “Aww, why not?”

“Because you have to go home. Didn’t you have a date with Pansy today?”

“It’s not until this evening.”

“But you’ll need all the time you can have to get ready.”

“Draco—”

“And I’d make sure to take care of my hair if I were you. They’re particularly…similar to Potter’s today."

Blaise paled and reached for his hair, gingerly touching the dark curls. “You’re lying,” Blaise accused.

“Maybe.”

Blaise got up. “Well, you’re right. I need to go get ready for my date. Owl me when this is over, all right? That way Pansy will have something to gossip about. And don't do anythign I wouldn't do.” 

He breezed out before Draco could tell him Pansy could gossip about his horrendous hair for all Draco cared. Draco knew he was going to send him that owl, whatever the outcome. He'd need someone to whine to after having to spend any lenght of time in Potter's company.

He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts and check he was as perfect looking as he could be, then he looked down at Pip. “Go tell Potter I’ll be right there.”

 

 

 


	4. Payment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the next chapter. Not much happens, but we're getting there.  
> I'm not sure I'll be able to update next week since I'll be spending a long weekend in London (and yes, that includes the Warner Studios!)

The house elf popped up in front of Harry, and Harry barely stopped himself before he reached for his wand. It was an automatic response left over from the war and the long months spent on the run, and he was working on suppressing it. It was easier said than done, bit it gave him something to think about that wasn’t how many people had died and how much he missed some of them.

The house elf bowed. “Master Draco will see Sir Harry Potter, sir.”

His gaze—Harry was almost sure it was a boy elf because he didn’t have bows on his ears and his sweater had a dragon on the front, which was pretty boyish—flicked to Tibby and he continued, “And Tibby.”

His gaze was disapproving, of what Harry couldn’t imagine. The elf started trotting up the driveway even though he could have simply apparated them to the house. Harry followed, and the gate shut behind him.

He swallowed.

The last and only time he’d been in Malfoy Manor hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park. Memories crowded his mind and pushed at him, reminding him of Bellatrix, of Hermione’s screams and the scar she still had on her arm, of Dobby and his small sandy grave. Of Malfoy’s terrified eyes, of how he’d lied instead of telling his father it really was Harry in front of him,

Tibby silently walked beside him, slightly behind, and he wondered how she felt. She’d been there when Voldemort had, hadn’t she? She knew Malfoy well from the way she’d talked about him. Wasn’t she scared of being back? Of living in the manor?

Luckily for Harry, the house elf had finally reached the front door, and Harry as able to stop thinking about the war. He didn’t remember much of the manor, to be honest. He’d been focused on things that weren’t the furniture back then, but he thought the place looked different as he stepped into the entrance.

The house elf closed the heavy door once Tibby was inside too, and Harry followed him again, down a hallway this time.

Harry didn’t know where to look. He didn't want the bad memories to come back, but he also couldn’t _not_ look around, not when the place was so beautiful. Admittedly, it wasn’t really his style, but the gleaming marble floors and the gold and wood furniture they passed were gorgeous.

The portraits that stared down at him as he walked weren’t, but he ignored the stares and glares. He was grateful when the house elf stopped in front of a door, though. The elf knocked and entered, announcing, “Harry Potter and Tibby, Master Draco, sir.”

Harry wasn’t surprised by the elf’s reverent tone, but he _was_ surprised by Malfoy’s answering words. “Thank you, Pip. Why don’t you take Tibby with you for now? She can help you getting tea ready.”

Malfoy’s tone was gentle and not at all how Harry had imagined him talking to house elves. He’d even said thank you for Merlin’s sake!

Pip the house elf bowed and retreated into the hallway. Harry took that as his cue to walk in. He was relieved Pip and Tibby wouldn’t be there for what he was sure would be a more than awkward conversation.

The door closed behind him. The room he’d stepped n was a sitting room—cream couches and armchairs, wooden coffee table, more gold and wood furniture and luxurious lamps and vases. The huge windows opened on a garden Harry wanted to spend hours exploring, the drapes held to the side by large golden metal flowers.

And there he was.

Draco Malfoy, the bane of Harry’s existence in school. He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him during his trial, but then Malfoy Manor was bound to be better than Azkaban, even though Voldemort had lived there for a while.

Malfoy was wearing black dress pants and a shirt open at the collar, and Harry found his gaze wandered to the patch of pale, smooth skin that was revealed. Malfoy stood by the window looking out, but he turned when he heard Harry.

“Potter,” he said, his tone cool and guarded.

It reminded Harry that no matter how gorgeous Malfoy was, he was still Malfoy. A less pointy, taller, sexier Malfoy, but Malfoy none the less.

“Malfoy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to bring Tibby back.”

Malfoy’s jaw tensed. “She’s payment for my debts.”

Harry huffed. “Like I told you in my note, I don’t need you to repay anything.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. It’s a question of honor.”

Harry snorted. “Not following Voldemort would have been honorable.”

“Yes, well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”

“And you think sending me chocolate and galleons will make you honorable?”

“No. It’ll fulfill my debts, though.”

“I don’t need your money.” Merlin knew Harry had more than enough already to be able to live his entire life and then some without working one day.

“That’s why I sent you Tibby.” The tone of Malfoy’s voice made it clear that it should have been obvious.

“I don’t want her.”

“You don’t?” Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised at Harry’s refusal.

“Well, I can’t take her back.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need her, while you do.”

“She’s yours, though.”

Malfoy shook his head. “She isn’t mine. She’s just a house elf.”

Harry could tell Malfoy was lying. He’d seen Tibby, had talked to her. She was a free elf, as her unicorn sweater showed. She was clean and well fed, and Harry had heard Malfoy talk to Pip. He’d been polite and had treated Pip like a person rather than a subordinate.

“She might be a house elf,” Harry said, “But I still don’t want her. I don’t need her either, Malfoy. I already have a house elf.” That Kreacher was still at Hogwarts was a detail Malfoy didn’t need to know.

Malfoy snorted elegantly—Harry didn’t even know that was possible. “Kreacher? He’s not of any help. I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

Harry blinked. “You know Kreacher?”

“Unfortunately.”

Harry waved Malfoy’s new topic of conversation away. “It doesn’t change anything. I won’t take Tibby, Malfoy.”

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. “It seems we have a problem, then, Potter. I need to repay my debts to you, yet you won’t let me.”

Harry didn’t understand why Malfoy was so fixated on repaying debts Harry didn’t even think were real. He thought he should have a say in it since he was the one Malfoy thought he owed something to. “There has to be a way to do this without you having to give me anything.”

Malfoy arched a brow, “Let’s hear it, then.”

 

****

 

Draco waited for Potter to answer him, to come up with an alternative he knew didn’t exist. He’d thought about it long enough on his own to be sure of that.

“I don’t want you to give me anything, but maybe you could do something for me. Would that work?”

Draco didn't like it. Nope. Merlin knew what Potter might ask for, and Draco knew that whatever to was he wouldn’t like it. “What did you have in mind?” he asked anyway.

Potter shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

Of course he hadn’t. The idiot. “As long as it’s nothing outrageous.”

“Like what?”

“You could ask for a number of things, and I couldn’t refuse, not if I agreed to this.”

“You should know me better than that, Malfoy.”

Malfoy did. He knew Potter wouldn’t be cruel, that he wouldn’t ask for Draco to be his slave or to give up all his money, or something like that. No, Potter was too much the Golden Boy, Saint Potter, to do that. “What do you want, then? And don’t tell me you don’t know. You’re here, so you might as well ask.”

Luckily for Potter—or far Draco?—Pip and Tibby popped into the sitting room, each one of them carrying a silver tray. Tibby had the teapot and the cups, while Pip had scones and small sandwiches.

The elves got busy, and Draco took the opportunity to finally leave his spot by the window to sit down. He could almost see the gears turn in Potter’s head, and he knew that whatever Potter came up with he wasn’t going to like it.

Pip and Tibby hovered by the coffee table until Draco smiled at them. “You can go Thank you.”

They both bowed, but only Tibby answered with a question. “Tibby is to follow Harry Potter when Harry Potter leaves, Master Draco, sir?”

“Oh, no,” Potter intervened. “I brought you back, Tibby. You can stay here.”

Tibby crossed her skinny arms over her chest, and Draco had to suppress a laugh. Potter would have no idea what hit him.

“Why is Master Harry Potter getting rid of Tibby?”

Potter paled. “I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

“Master Harry Potter brings Tibby back to Master Draco.”

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t because I was trying to get rid of you. This is your home. You shouldn’t have to leave it behind because your master is being an idiot.”

Oh, Potter had done it. For all that he was Granger’s best friend, he clearly hadn’t considered what _Tibby_ wanted.

Tibby put her hands on her hips and glared. “Tibby has no Master. Tibby is a free elf, and Tibby does what she wants. If Tibby wants to help Harry Potter, Tibby helps Harry Potter!”

Potter blinked at Tibby. She was small even for a house elf, and with the pink bows and sweater, she looked more like a doll than a house elf. Admittedly, it was a particularly ugly doll, but still. Potter hadn’t expected her to be fierce, but he’d been wrong. She’d always been strong and stubborn, but she’d blossomed in the past few months after Draco and his mother had freed her. She wasn’t afraid to let people know what she thought, and she had a strong personality, a personality she was unleashing on Potter.

Draco almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Potter looked at Draco. “Uh, Malfoy?”

Draco held his hands up. “You heard her. She’s a free elf, and she does what she wants. She seems to have taken a shine to you, although Merlin knows why. Maybe she just wants to clean that deplorable ruin you call home.”

Draco wasn’t sure what he’d said, but the perplexed smile disappeared from Potter’s face. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“I will if you take Tibby and leaves.”

“I’m not taking your house elf. I already told you that.”

Draco huffed in frustration. “What do you want, then?”

Potter hesitated. Draco expected many things—Potter storming out, insulting him, maybe even hitting him—but he hadn’t expected Potter’s next words.

“I want you to visit your cousin.”

Draco blinked. “You want me to do _what_?”

“I want you to go see your cousin.” Potter raised his chin in a stubborn gesture that told Draco he wasn’t going to win this time around. “You do know you have a cousin, right?”

Draco did know about Edward. He hadn’t told anyone, of course, but he’d looked for what remained of his family after being released from Azkaban. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because the war had shown him how easy it was to lose everything, maybe it was because he’d lost his father, who was in Azkaban and would stay there for life.

Wherever the reason, it didn't matter.

He’d found Edward and Aunt Andromeda. Andromeda’s daughter hadn’t made it through the war, though. Draco would never get to know her. Not that she’d wanted to. To with Draco’s recent past.

But Draco could keep an eye in Edward and make sure he’d always have everything he needed. He knew Potter was the boy’s Godfather since the Daily Prophet seemed to have dug into Potter’s life enough to know everything about him, including what size of shoes he wore and his favorite brand of shampoo—Potter should probably change it, though, considering the result.

“I know I have a cousin,” Draco finally answered when it became clear to both of them he was way past the time to answer.

Potter nodded. “Have you met him yet?”

“No. I didn't think my aunt would appreciate it.”

Potter bit his lower lip, and Draco had to force himself to look away. “I get why she might not want to see you, but I think Teddy needs to meet you.”

Draco snorted. “Why?”

“Because you’re family. His family.”

“He’ll be better off not knowing about the cousin who wouldn’t have given him a second thought if things hadn’t gone to hell.”

“Well, things went how they went, This is what I want as my payment. So what do you say, Malfoy?”

 

 

 


	5. Goodbyes and Hellos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm late posting the chapter, but I came back from London with the flu from hell :/ I'm still not one hundred percent healed, but I don't feel like I'm going to cough up a lung anymore, so there's that. Anyway, I apologize if this chapter isn't great, but I was feverish for a while there lol
> 
> Also, I really don't think this fic is going to fit in 20000 words. I have a list of scenes to follow, and from the size of it, the fic will be at least 40000, unless I intentionally try to keep it short and cut scenes out.

Harry whistled as he pushed open the front door of Grimmauld Place. He closed it and toed his shoes off, then started moving toward the kitchen, but something moved on the corner of his eye.

He reacted before even thinking about it, whipping his wand out and pressing to…Hermione’s throat?

Hermione held her empty hands up, and Harry jerked back, his want clattering to the floor. “Merlin,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, curls bouncing around her face. “It’s okay.” She picked up Harry’s want, handing it back to him.

“No, it’s not,” Harry snapped, and shit, he was making things even worse. He hadn’t thought that was possible.

“It is, Harry. It’s only been a few months. I shouldn’t have crept up on you like I did, but I didn't even realize what I was doing. I was just curious.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about walking around in your own home, Hermione.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and Harry knew he was either going to have to give in or clash with her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. She was leaving for Australia, for Merlin’s sake. He wouldn’t see her and Ron for at least a month, not until they were supposed to go back to school—if Hogwarts reopened at all. Last Harry knew the professors and a bunch of volunteers were already working on rebuilding the castle and the wards, but there was so much to do.

Harry pushed his wand into his back pocket and decided to let go. “What were you curious about?”

Hermione looked surprised for a second, probably at Harry’s easy surrender, but she let go. “About why you were so happy.”

Harry froze. “I’m not happy.”

Hermione kept her stance—arms crossed, brow arched—and she didn’t have to say anything for Harry to know she didn't believe him and that she would hound him until he gave in. She’d probably obsess about it while she was away, too, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry about that.

“I’m not happy,” he repeated.

“You were whistling.”

“So? Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d be in the mood for whistling, not today of all days.”

“It’s not like I’m happy you and Ron are leaving.” Of course he wasn’t. He’d spend the rest of the summer on his own at Grimmauld Place, and while the house was much neater and cleaner than it had been right after the war, it wasn’t exactly a cozy home yet.

Molly and Arthur had invited Harry to move in with them, George, and Ginny, but Harry hadn’t even had to think about it before declining. He loved them, but he couldn’t live with them. George was still struggling with his loss more than anyone else in the family, and Ginny had been hinting at having a talk with Harry about their relationship. While Harry knew he should have been over the moon about it, he wasn’t. He knew he’d have to talk to her sooner or later, but he hoped he’d manage to avoid it for another few weeks. He had too many other things to think about to focus a relationship he wasn’t sure he still wanted.

And wasn’t that telling.

“I know you’re not. We could take the next portkey. That way we’d be here for your birthday.”

Hermione had already offered, and Harry had already refused. Portkeys to Australia departed from London once every two weeks. If Hermione and Ron stayed for Harry’s birthday, they’d have to wait two more weeks, and that was a lot of time considering the reason they were going. Hermione had refused to let Harry use his Boy-Who-Live status to have a personal portkey made especially for her.

“No. You need to leave today. You already packed, and you’ve been getting ready for weeks.”

Hermione looked relieved, and Harry knew that no matter how much he hated it, that had been the right answer.

“If you’re sure.”

“Of course I am.”

“Good. So where were you? I came down thinking I’d find you in the kitchen, but you were clearly out.”

Harry wasn’t going to blush. He hadn’t done anything he needed to be embarrassed about. “Uh, yeah. I went out.”

“I already knew that.”

“And you want to know where and why.”

She smiled. “Only if you want to tell me. Was Ginny involved?”

Harry had been about to smile back, but his lips froze before he could. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, you know Ginny and I have been owling each other. She’s been talking about you quite a bit, wondering why you’re avoiding her. I thought maybe you’d decided it was time to stop.”

“I haven’t been avoiding her.”

“Of course not.”

Harry groaned. “Not you, too, please. Look, I know I need to talk to her. Ginny’s told me that, as well as Ron, Bill, and even Molly. And I will—when I’m ready.”

Hermione stared at Harry for a few seconds, as if she were trying to read him. Harry was relieved when instead of pushing and asking more questions, she nodded. “All right. I know it’s none of my business. I just want to make sure you know you can talk to me, okay? Ginny’s my friend, but you’re my _best_ friend, and I’m not a Weasley. It might be easier for you to talk to me rather than Ron.”

“I will.” Like hell. Harry wasn’t going to interrupt Hermione’s search for her parents just to talk about his feelings. That could wait until September. He’d just have to hide out in Grimmauld Place as much as he could.

If only it were easy.

He might have managed to avoid moving in with the Weasleys, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think Molly wasn’t going to insist on throwing him a party for his birthday. She’d done so ever since he and Ron had become friends in first year, and she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. That meant Harry had less than a week to either think about what he wanted—or didn’t want—from Ginny and the future or find a way to spend as little time as he could with her while he’d be at the Burrow.

The crazy idea of inviting Malfoy to the party passed through Harry’s mind.

That would be one way to have him repaying his debts, right? He’d agreed to spend time with Harry, and while Harry had thought he’d just have Malfoy spend some time with Teddy—they were family after all—and in the muggle world—so he could see muggles weren’t as bad as he’d been taught they were—maybe he could add the party to his list.

He sighed.

He couldn’t do that to the Weasleys. While it might have been fun to watch, they were still grieving, and the last thing they needed was Draco Malfoy in all his arrogance and nastiness in their home.

“I need to finish packing my things and check that Ron didn't forget anything,” Hermione said. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk? About anything?”

“I’m sure.” He could have told her about Tibby, but then she’d want to talk about it, and he couldn’t risk her and Ron being late or forgetting stuff. They wouldn’t be home for a month, and he was going to miss both of them, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Even though it felt a bit like it.

 

**** 

 

“I heard Mr. Potter was here.”

Draco rolled his eyes and finished stripping the wallpaper in the corner of the sitting room before turning to face his mother. “I’m sure the house elves were excited to have gossip to report.”

She smiled, something she was doing more and more often since the war. They might both still have nightmares, but they were working on getting better, on healing. Draco hadn’t thought he deserved that—he still wasn’t sure, no matter what his mother told him—but she did.

She’d done what she had to do to protect their family. It had been the wrong thing, obviously, but the three of them had made it out alive, if not free, and that was more than a lot of other families could say. They didn’t waste opportunities to let them know, either, which was why Draco and his mother, along with the house elves, were the only ones working on the manor.

No one else had agreed, and after being hexed and insulted a few times, Draco had decided they could do it on their own. It would take more time, but he hoped to be finished before long.

Pip appeared and grabbed the wallpaper Draco had taken down, popping away with it without saying anything.

“He didn’t accept Tibby.”

Trust Draco’s mother to point out the obvious. “No, he didn’t. She left with him, though.”

Draco’s mother’s smile widened. “And was he aware of it?”

“I don’t think so. You know how Tibby is. She seemed to have decided the git isn’t able to live on his own and to take care of his house.”

“I can’t say that I blame her, but what does that mean for your debts?”

Draco almost groaned, but he didn't want to let his mother know she’d managed to get right to the problem. “He agreed to let me repay them.”

“How?”

Draco wanted to squirm, but he’d been educated not to behave that way. Not that his education had been any help when it came to the war and the Dark Lord, but it didn’t mean it was a bad thing. “He wants me to spend time with Edward.”

His mother blinked. “Edward?”

“Your sister Andromeda’s grandson.”

Her hand fluttered over her mouth. Draco hadn’t told her about Edward, not yet. He hadn’t been sure she’d be happy about it. No matter how much he loved her, her sister and the boy represented what she’d been taught was wrong since she was a child. The war might be over, and Draco’s mother might never have wanted to hurt anyone or to do anything that wasn’t protecting their family, but it didn’t mean she would agree with him wanting to find out more about what little family they still had. Not when Andromeda had married a muggle, and her daughter a werewolf, things that were against her upbringing, that she’d been told were unacceptable since she’d been a child.

Very much like Draco had.

“Is the boy all right?”

Draco didn’t let his mother see how relieved he was at her reaction. “He is. He’s very young.”

“His parents?”

“Dead. Both of them. At Hogwarts.” He didn't have to add anything.

His mother nodded and turned toward one of the walls he’s stripped. She examined it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, humming, but Draco knew she was really thinking about her sister and her family.

Draco had been saddened when he’d learned what had happened to Nymphadora. He’d known she’d married Professor Lupin, of course, and even that they’d had Edward. Bellatrix hadn’t had any problems throwing it into Narcissa’s face when she thought her sister wasn’t passionate enough about their cause.

He hadn’t known what had happened to the couple during the battle of Hogwarts, though, not until he’d been freed by Potter and had been able to come home. Blaise had actually been the one who’d told him about it—his family had never been as close to the Dark Lord as Draco’s had, and neither he nor his mother had been arrested. Draco wasn’t even sure where Blaise had been during the battle, but he hadn’t been surprised to find out he’d made it out in one piece and with his reputation mostly intact.

Draco hadn’t known his cousin, but he’d liked Professor Lupin. He hadn’t been allowed to show it, of course, but apart from Professor Snape, he’d been Draco’s favorite teachers, and one of the best ones. He wished he hadn’t followed his father’s will so closely, that he hadn’t treated Professor Lupin like he had, especially now that he couldn’t even apologize.

“Will you go?” his mother asked, and he was grateful for the interruption of his thoughts.

“I will. I have to.”

She waved her wand at the wall, and it became a bright yellow. “Because it will repay your debts.”

“Yes.” And because he was curious. He didn’t think he’d ever have tried to get in touch with his aunt and his cousin if Potter hadn’t demanded he do it. No matter how much he wanted to, he could imagine his aunt’s reaction if he did. She’d lost her husband, her daughter, and her son in law in the war. Her entire life had been destroyed, and it was in part Draco’s fault.

She probably wanted to hex him to death.

He didn’t think she’d accept to let him see the baby, but then Potter was going to ask. Didn’t everyone do whatever the bespectacled git wanted? He certainly was doing just that, and he hated Potter.

Draco sighed.

That wasn’t true, not anymore. It hadn’t been in a few years, really, not since Draco had taken the Dark Mark and had had bigger problems than making the Gryffindor’s Golden Boy’s life hell. Petty bullying had been the last thing Draco had thought about when he’d had had to find a way to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and to find a way to kill the headmaster.

Yet even then, he hadn’t been able to ignore Potter. Potter had always managed to get under Draco’s skin, and it had never been a good thing. Even before Draco had met him, when he’d only been imagining how meeting Potter would change his life—and he’d never thought it would actually be as bad as it had been—he’d been fixated on the image of Potter he’d built in his mind.

And now he was going to have to spend time with Potter, and the thought unnerved him. He didn’t want to fight with him anymore, but he wasn’t sure it was possible. They’d always drawn out the worst part of each other, but Draco couldn’t afford to fight with the Dark Lord’s vanquisher, the man who’d kept him and his mother out of Azkaban. He’d probably end up in a cell there if he so much as scowled at Potter in public.

His mother needed him, and if he had to cozy up to the boy—the man—he’d spent years hating, then that was what he’d do.

 

 

 

### Chapter Six


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tibby thinks she's sneaky and Harry is oddly observant. Some teasing and bantering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week Teddy will finally make his debut! I can't wait for Draco to have to deal with him :) In the meantime, thanks to everyone leaving Kudos and comments. It means a lot <3

The house was empty but for Harry, or rather, it should have been. But Harry wasn’t blind, no matter what some people thought. Tibby had been doing her best to stay out of sight since Harry had come back from Malfoy Manor two days earlier, but she was the only explanation for the way the house was slowly getting cleaner. The dishes disappeared from the sink in the kitchen before Harry could wash them, Harry’s laundry was washed and folded, and he’d noticed _someone_ had started repairing the family tapestry in the drawing room.

Unless the house was suddenly haunted by a Black ghost who happened to like Harry and wanted to wash his socks, Tibby was there.

Harry wasn’t surprised, not after Tibby’s little speech the other day. Besides, he had to admit he liked knowing there was someone else in the house—and not having to wash his socks.

He really needed to talk to her, though. If he’d done so earlier, she could have woken him up that morning, which would have been great since he had an appointment—not a date—with Malfoy. Instead, he’d overslept, which was why he was still wearing shorts and a tank top when he heard the knock on his front door. Sighing, he went to open since Tibby wasn’t officially present, already knowing what Malfoy’s reaction would be.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Malfoy looked at him up and down, and even though his lips curled into what Harry supposed was disgust—he’d seen that expression on Malfoy’s face often enough in school—Harry also didn’t miss the flash of something else in his eyes. What that was, he didn't know, but he wanted to find out.

“Potter. Why am I not surprised to find you just woke up?” Malfoy drawled. He, of course, was impeccably dressed in charcoal grey trousers and a white shirt. The robes he wore over them were black and open, and his hair was neatly styled, shining in the sunlight.

“I didn't just wake up.” It had been at least a good five minutes already.

“Oh, of course. And where are we going that your attire is acceptable? I thought we were meeting my aunt.”

Harry stepped to the side to let Malfoy in. It would have been easy to let the annoyance Harry felt at Malfoy’s tone and words become anger, but Harry tampered it down. That was what Malfoy was trying to do. He knew how to get under Harry’s skin like no one else could, and he never wasted a chance to do just that.

Things might have changed since the war, but not that much.

“I said I didn't just wake up, not that I was dressed to go out.”

“I should have known you ate breakfast in your pajamas.”

“Technically, they’re not pajamas.”

“So you sleep in your clothes?”

“Why are you so interested in what I sleep in?”

Malfoy’s cheeks flushed, and Harry grinned smugly. Two could play Malfoy’s game, and Harry had won this round.

“You can sleep naked for all I care,” Malfoy snapped, and Harry’s grin widened.

“Maybe I do, but you’re not going to find out.”

“I’ll leave that doubtful honor to the girl Weasley,” Malfoy muttered. “Are you going to get dressed, then? Or does my aunt not mind that you look like a homeless person?”

“Your aunt wouldn’t mind if I showed up like this, no.” Not that Harry would do it. Even _he_ had more decorum than that, no matter what Malfoy thought. “But since I slept in this, I’m going to go upstairs and get dressed.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? You haven’t even asked me if I wanted a cup of tea or a glass of water! You’re an abysmal host, Potter.”

“And I’m not going to ask you if you want anything.”

“I didn't expect anything different from you.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I have to be a good host anyway. No one but you visits me.”

Malfoy sniffed. “And what about Granger and the weasel? Don’t they visit you?”

“They’ve lived here since, well, you know, but they left for Australia a few days ago, so it’s just me now.”

“Oh, poor Potter. No one to fan over you?”

Harry didn’t get it. Why was Malfoy trying to push him into a fight? And just before meeting with Andromeda and Teddy, too. Showing up there all bloody and battered wouldn’t look good, for neither of them, especially after Harry had insisted that Malfoy had changed.

So instead of punching Malfoy right on the nose like he wanted to, he shrugged. “You can always take that spot since no one’s filling it.”

Malfoy snorted delicately. “I’ll leave that to the Daily Prophet. They seem to have become quite good at it.”

That much was true. The Daily Prophet had been running special editions since the day of the battle, most of them focused on Harry. No matter how many times he’d told them he’d just been one of the fighters, that he couldn’t have done it without help—Hermione and Ron, Neville, the Weasleys, the DA—the following article was always about him. They’d already written about the important stuff, so the articles nowadays were about when he was going to propose to Ginny, what he liked to eat for breakfast or what kind of soap he used to do his laundry—something he didn't know since the Invisible Tibby was doing it for him.

And speaking of Tibby… “I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way to the kitchen,” he told Malfoy. “And if you can’t, you can always call Tibby, right?”

Malfoy didn’t even look embarrassed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Silly me. I guess my clothes just wash themselves.”

“I didn't realize you thought that was how things worked. I can’t deny your clothes look so dirty they could stand on their own, so I’m not surprised you don’t do your laundry.”

“Because you do?”

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course I don’t. My house elves do it for me.”

“Obviously.” Malfoy had probably never washed a sock in his life. At least his house elves were free. “Tibby!” he called out.

And of course, she didn't answer since she was supposed to be at Malfoy Manor and she was still playing the game.

“Tibby? Come on. I know you’re here. Just come out, please.”

Malfoy snorted.

Tibby stayed away.

Harry waved his hand toward the kitchen. “Whatever. You can get yourself a cup of tea over there. I’ll be right back.” Harry wasn’t going to stay there calling for Tibby since she clearly wasn’t about to answer. They were going to end up late if he did.

 

****

 

Draco watched Potter walk away, his ass gently swinging from side to side.

He couldn’t believe Potter was trusting him to be alone in the house. Well, Potter hadn’t _left_ exactly, but he wasn’t with Draco or anywhere near him. That meant Draco could do anything he wanted—get himself that damn cup of tea, sneak around, or even set fire to something. Not that he was going to set fire to anything after what had happened in the Room.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that, and went in search of the kitchen. He vaguely remembered visiting the house when he was a child, but he’d never been in the kitchen, so it took him a few tries to find the right door.

It was…a kitchen. It looked like the manor’s kitchen, long and cavernous, with small windows running along the wall, close to the ceiling, providing light. The room was halfway between the ground floor and the basement, but with the sun shining outside, there was enough light for Draco to be able to see.

Unfortunately.

He wrinkled his nose at the dust floating in the sunlight and the rings left on the long table by glasses and mugs. It wasn’t exactly a disaster—Draco had seen much worse during the war when he’d been forced to share his home with so many other people. Still, if he was going to spend any length of time in this house, the place needed to be clean, or he’d be afraid to sit down.

“Tibby?” he called out.

She appeared with a small pop, bowing so deeply her ears dragged on the floor. “Master Draco. What can Tibby do for Master?”

“Hello, Tibby. How are you?”

“Tibby is fine, Master Draco, Sir.”

“You’ve been cleaning behind Potter’s back.”

Tibby narrowed her round eyes. “Master Harry Potter is being alone. Master Harry Potter needs Tibby to take care of him.”

Trust Tibby to get maternal toward the Golden Git. “Of course, he does. I’m sure he needs to be told how great he is at least once a day or he feels faint or something.”

Tibby’s eyes became slits as she glared at Draco. “Master Draco is being a mean boy. Master Harry Potter is being lonely. Is not sleeping. Not eating enough.”

Draco wasn’t sure whether that was true or if Tibby was exaggerating. Not that he cared, and he wasn't about to start fighing with her over Potter. “Right. Do you think you can make me a cup of tea, Tibby?”

The scowl finally vanished from her small face. “Of course, Master Draco.”

Like all house elves, she was happier when she could serve. It might sound callous and cruel to some people who didn't know better, but it was true. Just like centaurs could see the future in the stars and goblins were good with money, house elves were good at taking care of things and people. They tended to become depressed if they couldn’t.

Draco was glad he and his mother had freed the manor’s elves, though. They’d all stayed, something that had surprised him, and now they were paid for their work. Not much, but that was all they’d agreed on.

Draco brushed the seat of the chair he’d chosen before sitting down while Tibby went to work. She looked happy, and from what she’d said, she was. It made Draco a little sad, but her presence in Potter’s house meant Draco was one step closer to repaying his debts. Besides, he had plenty of house elves at the manor, but Tibby was the only one in Grimmauld Place. She had to be over the moon to be the only one taking care of the Boy Who Lived.

He was sipping on his tea when Potter appeared at the door, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Both were too big for him—they could have fit a small elephant.

“I see your sense of fashion hasn’t improved,” Draco drawled.

Potter arched a brow at him as he sat at the table. “When would it have? While I was running for my life? Or when I was fighting to the death with Voldemort?”

Draco shuddered at the name. How Potter could say it so flippantly was beyond him, but then he’d never claimed to understand the git.

“I could help you,” he said.

Potter frowned. “With what?”

Draco waved at Potter’s chest. “Your wardrobe. I’m surprised you haven’t been invited to the dozens of Ministry balls and parties that have been going on since the end of the war.”

Potter looked down at the table and…blushed? “I’ve been invited to them. I just didn't go.”

“Why? You’re the Ministry’s poster boy. I would have thought they’d want you there.”

“They do, but they can’t exactly force me.”

“And you haven’t gone because you don’t have the appropriate clothing?” That sounded almost like Potter cared about things like this.

“No. I haven’t gone because I didn't want to. It didn’t have anything to do with my clothes.”

“It could be a way to repay my debts.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Still going on with that debts thing, huh? I already told you you don’t have to repay me.”

“Yet you’re taking me to visit my aunt and cousin today.”

“That’s just because I think you should know them.” He grinned, and Draco was suddenly apprehensive. “But yeah, you could help me buy clothes. I’ll choose the stores we go to, though.”

Draco had been right. It wasn’t good. “Which stores did you have in mind?” he asked.

“You’ll see when we go. Are you ready to go, then?”

Draco put down his half empty cup and got up, smoothing his hands down his chest to straightened his shirt. “Whenever you are.”

“Good. I told Andromeda we’d be there by nine thirty, so she’ll be expecting us for ten.”

“That’s…appalling.”

“Nah. It’s just practical. She knows me well.”

"You have no manners."

"Never claimed to."

Draco followed Potter toward the entrance. He was nervous, something he’d never admit to anyone. He might have played around with the thought of meeting his cousin, but he’d never thought he’d actually get to do it.

What if his aunt took one look at him and told him to leave? What if she expected him to try to hurt the child or her?

God, what if she expected him to hold Edward?

Edward was a baby, and Draco didn’t think he’d ever held one, or been close to one, really. What if he dropped Edward and hurt him?

“You’ll be fine,” Potter said.

“What?”

“You look terrified. You don’t need to be.”

Draco straightened and tried to smooth out his expression. “I’m not. Why would I be?”

How could Potter read him that easily? It probably had to do with how much he’d stared at him during sixth year, but Draco wasn’t going to bring it up. Now wasn’t the right time to start fighting, no matter how much he wanted to. It would be so much easier to slip into his known role of the Golden Boy’s enemy than to show his aunt he wasn’t the spoiled brat he’d been all his life.

Potter stared at him for a few moments, his expression thoughtful. “Right. Why would you be?”

Then he held his arm out for Draco to take. It was the last thing Draco wanted to do, but he grabbed it anyway, looking straight ahead as Potter apparated them away.


	7. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally gets to meet Andromeda and Teddy.

They apparated just outside Andromeda’s small garden. Malfoy let go of Harry’s arm as if it had burned him and cleared his throat, smoothing down his shirt. His gaze darted around, and Harry tried to see things from his perspective.

The house Andromeda lived in with Teddy was small, unlike the manor. It was surrounded by a garden that had seen better days, with its overgrown grass and colorful wild flowers. Malfoy, who was used to the manor, probably wanted to turn around and leave, and Harry waited for him to say something scathing, but he didn't. Instead, he looked at Harry. “My aunt takes care of Edward on her own, right?” He sounded oddly worried.

“Yeah. Well, I help as much as I can, but she thinks it’s better for her to be Teddy’s main caretaker since he’s going to grow up with her.” Or that was what she’d told Harry anyway. He suspected that most days she just didn't want to see anyone, including him.

Malfoy nodded. “I understand.”

“She doesn’t mind when I take him for a while, though. She needs some time on her own, mostly to sleep.”

“Of course, she does.”

Praying Malfoy wouldn’t say or do anything that would get him kicked out, Harry pushed open the small gate and stepped into the garden. He made a mental note he knew he’d end up forgetting to come and mow the lawn as he walked to the front door and knocked.

He looked sideways at Malfoy as they waited. Malfoy was pale, more so than usual, as if he were afraid of what was about to happen. And maybe he was. As far as Harry knew, Malfoy had never met Andromeda, but they both had preconceived ideas of who and what the other was. The woman who had chosen a muggle over her family and everything she’d been taught against the boy—man—who made the wrong decisions again and again in the attempt to save his family.

Harry hoped they wouldn’t end up trying to kill each other. Andromeda might be older, but it didn’t mean she was slower or that she’d let Malfoy win just because of who he was. Besides, while Malfoy had been freed by the Wizengamot, they wouldn’t have problems kicking his ass back in Azkaban if he only thought of hurting anyone, even if it was in self-defense.

The door opened and Harry grinned at the woman behind it. The war and its aftermath had had an effect on everyone involved, including Andromeda, or maybe especially her. She’d lost so much, and now she had to raise a newborn on her own, Harry’s help notwithstanding.

“Andromeda,” he said. “Hi.”

“Hello, Harry.” She stepped aside to let him in. “Teddy is still sleeping, but he should wake up soon.” She looked at Malfoy, and Harry could see how hesitant she was. He half expected her to change her mind and send him away, but instead, she nodded at him. “Draco Malfoy.”

Malfoy cleared his throat again. “Call me Draco. Please.”

She stared at him for a moment before nodding. “I suppose you can call me Andromeda.”

Malfoy tilted his head. “Thank you. And thank you for welcoming me in your home. I…didn’t expect you to, considering everything.”

The small entrance was far from being the right place to discuss something like that, so Harry was glad when Andromeda gestured toward the kitchen. The three of them stayed silent as Harry and Malfoy settled around the table while Andromeda got busy making tea.

“I wasn’t sure,” she finally said. “I haven’t talked with Narcissa in decades, but I know what she thinks of me and what side of the war she was on.”

Harry winced. He'd expected Andromeda to ask questions, but he'd hoped she’d wait a bit and wouldn’t be so straightforward.

He looked at Malfoy, waiting for him to snap and get up, but instead, he nodded.

“Mother had never mentioned you until recently, although I did know of you, of course. I did some research to find out more about you.”

“You know I left my family to marry a muggle.” She put a full cup in front of Malfoy.

“And that you lost your husband, you daughter, and your son-in-law.”

The silence that settled in the kitchen was heavy, and Harry wasn’t sure how to break it. It could have been worse—Andromeda was busy making tea, so at least she wasn’t staring at Malfoy from the other side of the table or knocking him out with a pan.

“Why are you here?” she asked, and Harry held his breath.

How Malfoy would answer would determine a lot of things, like if Harry and him would meet again or if he’d get a punch right in his pointy face.

“We all lost something because of the war,” Malfoy answered, his voice strangely hesitant. “Some much more than others. I’ll understand if you’d rather I stay away, but I don’t have much family left. I only have Mother, and you and Edward. I’d like to see him grow up and be there for him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s family. He might not be a Malfoy, but he’s a Black. Family is important, especially after what happened.”

Harry could almost not believe what he was hearing. He’d known Malfoy had changed, or he wouldn’t have agreed to have him meet Teddy, but he hadn’t realized how much. Harry didn’t know what exactly had happened to Malfoy or what he’d seen and had been forced to do—he hadn’t been there every time the Wizengamot had had him answering questions and explaining what he’d done during the war—but it had changed him.

“I know you don’t owe me anything,” Malfoy continued. “But I’d like to get to know you and Edward.”

“He might be a werewolf,” Andromeda said, her eyes on Malfoy’s face. “And he’s a metamorphmagus.”

That was Malfoy’s next test, and Harry waited to see if he’d pass it. He wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy passed—not much would surprise him at this point, not when it came to the new Malfoy.

Malfoy nodded once. “I understand.”

“It’s not a problem for you?”

Malfoy hesitated. “I just want Edward to be safe and healthy.”

Andromeda stared, and Harry wished she’d given him a cup of tea, too. He needed something to focus on, something that wasn’t the silent war of gazes happening inches from him.

“You’re not what I expected,” Andromeda finally said.

A cry echoed from deeper in the house and Harry grinned. His godson was awake, and from the sound of it, hungry. Andromeda pushed away from the counter and gestured at Harry to follow her. “You can change his diaper while I make sure his bag is ready.”

No one in the room was fooled by her words. She wanted to talk to Harry—alone.

Malfoy didn’t say anything. He just sipped on his tea.

Harry followed Andromeda to Teddy’s bedroom. He made a beeline for the crib where Teddy was whimpering, getting himself ready for a full-blown cry. Harry lifted him and held him to his chest, using his most soothing voice to calm him as he went to lay him down and change him.

“You need to be careful,” Andromeda said.

Harry didn't need to ask to know she was talking about Malfoy. “I will. You know how much I love Teddy. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t, no.”

“Malfoy won’t either. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn't think he was safe.”

“You know what role he had in the war.”

“I also know that while he might be a brat, he did what he did to save himself and his family. He’s not evil, Andromeda. He’s just a spoiled kid who made the wrong choices.”

Andromeda was silent as she checked the bag Harry would take with him. He changed Teddy’s diaper and dressed him, and only when he was done did Andromeda say, “I hope you’re right.”

Harry hoped he was right, too.”

 

****

 

Draco wrapped his hands around his cup of tea and waited.

He wasn’t surprised that Andromeda was wary of him. He’d expected her to throw him out or not let him in at all, so really, the situation wasn’t bad.

She was about to trust him with the only member of her family she had left. Him, a war criminal. Most people still wondered why he wasn’t Azkaban. Sometimes, he wondered the same thing. He still wasn’t sure why Potter had felt the need to talk in his favor during the trial—they’d hated each other for years since that failed handshake.

He also didn't know why Potter seemed to want to spend time with him rather than accepting money or his house elf, or why he was giving him the opportunity to get to know what little family he had left. He wasn’t going to jeopardize it, though. He realized how lucky he was.

And his mother. She hadn’t said anything so he couldn’t be sure she wanted to rekindle her relationship with her sister, but the way she’d listened when he’d told her about Andromeda and Edward made him think she did. They didn't have to follow his father’s law anymore. They were free to do what they wanted.

Draco’s father was in Azkaban, and he wouldn’t be leaving the prison anytime soon. He couldn’t forbid or force Draco and his mother to do anything.

Draco wasn’t sure Andromeda would agree to meet his mother, but maybe once she realized he really just wanted to make amends, she’d warm to the idea.

“Here we are.”

Draco was thankful for the interruption, and he turned to look at Potter. He was holding a baby—a tiny baby with…blue hair?

“What have you done to him?” Draco asked, appalled.

Potter laughed. He laughed! “I didn’t do anything to him. He’s just hungry. Remember that Andromeda told you he’s a metamorphmagus? This is what he does when something’s wrong, like when his diaper needs to be changed or when he wants his bottle.”

Draco rose from his chair and cautiously approached. Edward’s hair might be a bright blue, but there wasn’t much of it. Apart from that, he looked like a perfectly normal baby, or at least Draco thought so. He didn't think he’d ever seen a baby from this close.

“Here,” Potter said, holding Edward toward Draco.

Draco looked around. Did Potter really think Draco could hold Edward? “I’ll call Andromeda,” he said.

Potter rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to call her. You wanted to spend time with Teddy? You can start right now. You can hold him while I get his bottle ready. I’ll show you how to hold him if you want. He’s not that small anymore, so his head isn’t a problem.”

“His head?” Merlin, why had Edward’s head been a problem? Was it contagious?

“You know, babies’ heads are too heavy for them to hold them up on their own in the beginning.”

Draco eyed Edward. His head _did_ seem bigger than it should. And Potter said it was normal? Draco was pretty sure _his_ head had never been too big.

“Come on,” Potter insisted. “Take him.”

Draco didn't have a choice since Potter was pushing Edward into his arms. He held his hands out, and Potter settled Edward against his chest, in the crook of his elbow. Draco looked down and was unable to look away.

Edward was staring back at him. His eyes were wide and dark, and they made Draco want to squirm. Edward looked like he was seeing Draco, really seeing him, and Draco didn't want him to. There was nothing good there, not for Edward, or for anyone else.

“See?” Potter said, drawing Draco’s attention back to him. “It wasn’t that hard.”

He went to the counter, filling a bottle with water and warming it before adding a white powder from a metal container. Draco stood there, feeling awkward and out of place, able to feel Edward’s gaze on him. He couldn’t resist looking down again, and his eyes widened when he saw Edward’s hair. It wasn’t blue, not anymore. Instead, it was blond, so blond it was almost white.

Just like Draco’s.

“Oh, hey. It’s the first time he does that,” Potter said as he came closer again, taking Edward with ease to feed him. “Usually he goes from his normal brown to blue and back.”

Draco couldn’t say anything. He’d wanted to meet Edward, to be part of his life, but he hadn’t expected to—to _love_ him right away. Edward didn't know what he’d been doing when he’d changed his hair to blond, yet the gesture meant acceptance and hope for Draco. It was more than he’d expected when he’d entered his aunt’s house, so much more.

He was turning into a Hufflepuff.

His father would be horrified, and the thought made Draco oddly gleefully.

He cleared his throat. “What did you have in mind for today, then?” he asked, doing his best to sound haughty and aloof.

Even he could see he was failing at it.

“Well, I usually take Teddy for a walk. He likes Diagon Alley. You know, all the colors and stuff. I don’t think it’s a good idea for today, though.”

No need for Draco to ask why.

“So,” Potter continued. “I thought we could go to Muggle London for a bit, maybe to the park.”

Draco wanted to groan. Good thing he was too dignified to do it. “You want _me_ to go to _Muggle_ London?”

“Why not? We agreed it was one way for you to repay me, right? Or have you changed your mind?”

Draco knew Potter was baiting him, expecting him to say that yes, he’d changed his mind. It didn’t matter. He’d never been able to resist the taunts in school, but Edward was there, and Draco wasn’t about to start a fight. “Lead the way,” he said instead.

“You might want to take your robes off. Muggles don’t use them.”

“Of course, they don’t. They have no sense of style, just like you.”

He expected Potter to get offended, but he just rolled his eyes. “Are you ready to go, then?”

Draco made a scene of taking his robes off and shrinking them. He carefully folded the now tiny garment and put it into his pocket, then gestured toward the door. “Should I give Andromeda my goodbyes?”

“She, uh, went to bed. Teddy still wakes up a few times during the night, so she needs rest.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Draco didn't push. Andromeda had welcomed him into her home, and that was enough—for now.


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Draco, and Teddy finally get to the park. Conversation happens, and Harry finds out surprising things about Malfoy--sorry, Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there's no way this is going to be around 20000 words. Hopefully it won't go over 40000, though! I plot a few chapters at a time because the boys had the tendency to do what they want rather than what I want them to do, so I'm not sure how many chapters there will be :)

Malfoy grabbed Harry’s arm again so they could apparate. Harry had strapped Teddy to his chest since it was easier than using a buggy, and he’d slung the bag Andromeda had gotten ready for their outing over his shoulder. He was surprised when Malfoy barely looked around when they arrived, at least to criticize Harry’s choice. Instead, he looked at Teddy and asked, “Is apparition safe for small children?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tease Malfoy for obviously caring. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him care for anyone but himself or his parents. “Yes. I asked Teddy’s healer. Apparition is perfectly safe even for newborns.”

Malfoy nodded and relaxed, bemusing Harry. He’d seen how Malfoy had reacted to Teddy earlier, in the kitchen. He’d looked both terrified and mesmerized. Harry had expected the terrified bit since that was exactly how _he_ had reacted when he’d held Teddy in his arms for the first time. But the mesmerized bit he hadn’t seen coming. The scared for Teddy part neither.

Malfoy stared at Teddy for a while, as if to make sure he still had all his fingers and toes. Then he nodded and looked at Harry. “I believe you. He’s not even crying.”

“That’s because he’s okay and he’s used to apparating.”

Malfoy finally shifted his focus to where they were. “Where are we?”

“Green Park. See that building over there?”

Malfoy turned around and squinted. Buckingham Palace was barely visible between the trees, but what they could see was enough to see how big and imposing it was and to recognize it if one had already seen it.

The squinting was a bit odd on Malfoy’s face, but not unpleasant. It made him look more human, more approachable.

“Yes,” Malfoy finally answered.

“That’s Buckingham Palace. Its’ where the Queen lives. You know, the muggle queen.”

Malfoy sniffed. “I know who the Queen is, Potter. The Malfoy family has long had contacts with muggle royalty.”

Of course they had. He was slightly surprised, but he supposed being royalty made being a muggle less important. He wouldn’t have expected anything different from the Malfoys. “Right. Well, lets’ go sit down, then.”

Harry led the way toward the middle of the grass. The apparition point was fairly hidden, but it didn’t take them much to get to Harry’s usual spot. He took advantage of the shade cast by a tree, stopping under it and reaching into his bag. He took out the blanket Andromeda had packed. He was used to unfolding and spreading it on his own by now, but Malfoy surprised him yet again when he took it from his hands without as much as a sneer. He spread it, and Harry didn’t waste time sitting down and unhooking Teddy from his chest.

He put the baby on his back on the blanket and tickled his foot as he put away the contraption he used to cart Teddy around. Teddy giggled and wiggled his foot, making Harry smile. He looked up at Malfoy, who was staring down, either at Teddy or at the blanket.

“Scared of sitting on the grass like a muggle?” Harry teased him. He made sure to keep his tone as light as possible to make that obvious. The last thing he needed was to start a fistfight with Malfoy in the middle of a muggle park.

Malfoy huffed and sat down. He looked stiff and uncomfortable, although Harry wasn’t sure whether it was due to the company or the sitting in the grass thing. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen Malfoy sitting by the lake or on the grass at Hogwarts. He thought so, but he wasn’t sure. Still, he didn’t think that was the reason Malfoy looked like he was ready to bolt.

“We can leave,” he suggested.

Malfoy shook his head. “This is fine.”

“It’s obviously not. You look like you expect someone to start beating you up or something.” Harry smiled at Teddy and wiggled his fingers over his face for him to catch.

“Maybe I am.”

Harry jerked his head toward Malfoy, his hand falling to the blanket. “Why would you?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I’m not the most popular person around lately.”

“Have you been beaten?” Harry hadn’t heard anything about that, but then he wouldn’t, not unless it got on the Daily Prophet. Still, he wouldn’t be surprised by it, but it didn’t make it right. The war would never be over if people didn’t forget, or at least forgive.

He knew it wasn’t an easy thing to do—he’d lost people he loved, just like a lot of other people. Remus, Fred, Sirius. He missed all of them fiercely, but he wasn’t about to beat Malfoy up for their death. They’d all known what they were risking when they’d chosen to fight. Not all the dead had chosen to help, of course, but Malfoy had been forced to take Veritaserum, so Harry knew for sure he’d never killed anyone.

He’d been forced to torture, both other Death Eaters and muggles, but Harry thought everyone in his place would have complied. It was easy to be indignant and angry now that the war was over and people were safe, but anyone would have been scared to death if Voldemort himself had threatened to torture and kill their parents.

Harry didn't agree with what Malfoy had done and he hated it, but he didn't think Malfoy needed to pay more than he already had.

Malfoy tried to look like he didn’t care when he answered, “Once or twice,” but Harry could see through it.

It made him angry. He wasn’t sure why, but it had to be the injustice of it all, although he was sure Hermione would say it was his Savior complex.

What a crock of bullshit.

Harry didn't have any kind of Savior complex. He just didn’t like injustice.

“That’s not right,” he spat out.

To his surprised—and wasn’t Malfoy surprising him again and again today—Malfoy chuckled. “Trust me, I know that. But there’s nothing you can do, so calm down. You’ll scare Edward.”

_Edward_ was too busy trying to roll to his stomach to even realize Harry was angry, let alone getting scared by it. Harry lowered his voice anyway. “Who was it? Did you report it?”

“Ah, yes. Because the Aurors would have actually investigated.”

“You deserve to be safe just like everyone else.”

“Not everyone shares that opinion.”

“It’s…”

“Bullshit, I know. There’s no need to get your panties in a bunch, Potter. I’m fine. I learned to avoid most wizarding places, and I haven’t been hurt in a while.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“And you shouldn’t have to beat reports off with a stick.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Malfoy shrugged. “With all the articles and the pictures, I imagine they’re camped out at your door.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And reporters are known to be…irritating, and not your favorite kind of people.”

Harry snorted. “You could say that.” He knew what Malfoy had done, but a change of topic was more than okay with him, so he went along with it. “They’re everywhere.”

That was the main reason he tended to avoid Diagon Alley or any other wizarding place. New pictures of him yawning or scratching his ass still popped up in the papers every morning.

“You do know that if this,” Malfoy said, waving between them. “Comes out, they’re going to make your life hell.”

The thought had passed through Harry’s mind, but he honestly didn’t care. There would always be someone who had something to say about him and his actions—he shouldn’t have spoken in Malfoy’s favor, he should start working as an Auror right away, he should change his brand of shampoo or butter his toast in a different way. He’d never win, and he didn’t want to try. “So?”

Malfoy blinked. “So? That might tarnish your Boy-Who-Lived status.”

“Again—so?”

“Your fans will be angry.”

Harry wanted to say he didn't have fans, but unfortunately, that would be a lie. He’d already received a dozen invitations to fan club meetings all over the country. “I don’t care. I’m living my life like I want to live it.”

He’d thought he was dead, back in the forest, when Voldemort had Avada Kedavraed him. He _had_ been dead. He’d been given a second chance at life, and he wasn’t going to waste it by thinking about what people he didn't even know thought of his liking for orange marmalade.

 

****

 

Draco didn’t understand Potter. He of all people should hate him and want in in Azkaban, yet there they were, sitting in the grass and playing with a baby. If someone had told Draco something like that would happen even only a week before, he’d have hexed them.

“You’re lucky you can do that,” came out of Draco’s mouth before he could think of the words.

Potter blinked. “Do what? Live my life like I want to?”

Draco nodded stiffly. He hadn’t meant to say that, and he knew Potter wasn’t going to let it go.

“I guess,” Potter continued. “I mean, a lot of people can’t. We’re lucky.”

Draco snorted. “ _We?_ ”

“Yeah. You’re free. You can do what you want.”

There were so many wrong things in that statement, Draco didn't even know where to start. “No, I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

Draco resisted the urge to insult Potter until he felt it fade. “I can’t live my life like I want to. I was supposed to help my father with the Malfoy business, to marry a witch from a good family and have at least two children. Do you really think I can do any of that? That I’ll be _allowed_ to do it? I’m lucky my family is wealthy because I’ll never find a job, and most people don’t want anything to do with the Malfoy name. I don’t blame them. Who would want to do business with a Death Eater? And my hypothetical wife? Who would want their daughter to marry into the Malfoy family? To tarnish their name that way?”

Draco breathed out, knowing he needed to calm down. Edward had stopped trying to roll around and was staring at him with wide eyes, and Draco didn’t want to make him cry.

“You know,” Potter said, his voice steady. “I’ve just heard you say that you won’t be able to do what you were supposed to do, but what about what you _want_ to do? Not what was expected of you. What you’d do if you could choose.”

Trust Potter to notice that. “Who said they’re not the same thing?”

Potter snorted and finally helped Edward roll to his stomach. “Please. You really want to marry a woman for her name and wealth rather than because you love her?”

“If I had a say in it, Potter, I wouldn’t marry a woman at all.” Merlin. What was it about Potter that seemed to loosen Draco’s mouth and spill his secrets?

“What?”

“Never mind.” Draco shouldn’t have said that. The last thing he needed was for the Golden Boy to know he was gay.

“No, what did you mean, that you wouldn’t marry a woman?”

Edward chose that moment to try to eat a handful of blanket, and Draco could have kissed bun. He should have known better than to think Potter would let go, though. He never did, not when he got his teeth into something he thought was important. Why would he think that of Draco’s eventual marriage, Draco didn't know.

Potter gently got the blanket out of Edward’s mouth and took a stuffed toy out of the bag he’d brought. He put the lion—of course it was a lion—in front of Edward, and Edward promptly stuck one of the paws into his mouth.

“I’m waiting, Malfoy.”

“And you won’t stop asking until I tell you.”

Potter grinned. “Exactly.”

Draco sighed. His homosexuality wasn’t a secret, but the only people who knew were few and all in Slytherin. Of course, most of them were now either dead, like Crabbe, or in Azkaban, like Goyle. Draco’s parents didn't know, and they never would. His father would probably have a heart attack if he found out his only son and heir was a shirt-lifter.

“It just means that I’m gay, Potter,” Draco finally admitted. “I would be surprised you didn't know, but then Edward’s observation skills are probably better than yours.”

“Gay?”

“You know. I like boys instead of girls.”

Potter rolled his eyes and raked a hand through his hair. It made the black strands stick up even more than they’d been doing before, and Draco had to resist the strong urge to try to give them a semblance of order.

“I know what gay means, “Potter said. “And you really should stop calling me Potter.”

Draco wasn’t sure where that had come from, but he was glad to be able to stop talking about his sexual orientation. “And what should I call you? Savior? Golden Boy? Boy-Who-Lived? That last one is a bit of a mouthful, I’m afraid.”

“How about Harry? It’s my name after all.”

“You do realize we’re not friends.”

Potter shrugged. “I know that, but so what? Even people I don’t like call me Harry.”

Draco scowled, his chest tightening with an emotion he didn't want to analyze. “Nice to know I still belong to that category.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Why do you want me to call you Harry?” The name sounded weird on Draco’s tongue, but he knew he’d get used to it if he gave himself a chance to.

“Because whether you like it or not, it’s going to take a while for Andromeda to trust you, so if you want to keep seeing Teddy, you’ll have to see me too. Since I hope you’ll want to spend as much time as possible with him, we should see each other fairly often. Might as well call me by my name, no?”

Draco wanted to protest, but what would be the point of that? Potter always got what he wanted, and what would Draco obtain by insisting? “All right.”

Potter grinned. “All right, _Harry_.”

Merlin. Draco wanted to smack him right in that smug face of his. Instead, he had to make do with inclining his head and spitting out a, “Harry.”

Potter’s smile widened. The arse. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“I haven’t you heard say my name, Po—Harry.”

Potter shook his head. “Of course, Draco. So, do you want to take a walk? I’m pretty sure Teddy will be ready for a nap soon.”

Draco frowned. “He just woke up.”

“Nah. He woke up over two hours ago, and he’s been moving around like a little demon. Also, it’s hot, and he usually sleeps out the warmer hours.”

Draco hadn’t realized babies slept so much. He didn’t think he needed to be worried about it, since Potter clearly wasn’t, and he was the expert between them.

They got up, and Potter—Draco could continue calling him that in his mind. The git would never know—out Edward back into that weird instrument that served to carry him around. Draco took care of the blanket and the stuffed toy, pushing them back into the bag and pulling it over his shoulder when Potter tried to take it.

They started walking the paths, and Draco had to admit muggles knew what they were doing when it came to parks. The grass was kept short and very green, and muggles were laying around, enjoying the sun. It was peaceful, not to have to worry that someone would attack or insult him, but Draco still tensed when two women about their age stopped to coo at Edward.

“He’s so cute,” the red head—she reminded Draco of the weasel—said, wiggling her fingers at Edward.

Draco felt the insane urge to push her away from his cousin, but he kept himself in check. Potter didn't seem worried.

“His name is Teddy.”

“Hello, Teddy,” the blonde cooed.

“It’s great to see you guys are already fathers,” the red head said, and Draco gaped at her. She thought he and Potter were Teddy’s fathers?

Potter’s cheeks darkened. “Uh, thanks.” He didn’t correct her. Why didn’t he correct her?

The blonde nodded. “Yeah, you guys are so cute. A perfect little family.”

Draco needed to leave. Now.

He opened his mouth to tell the muggles there was absolutely nothing between him and Potter, no matter what his heart seemed to think of it, but Potter grabbed his arm and squeezed it.

“Sorry, but we were going to grab ice cream,” he told the girls.

They giggled and waved, and Potter dragged Draco away before he could do or say something stupid and impulsive, like hexing the girls or taking Potter’s hand.

“Come on,” Potter muttered.

“Why didn’t you tell them we’re not—that we’re—”

“What would it have changed? It’s not like we’re ever going to see them again.”

Draco huffed. “Still.”

“Come on. Don’t pout. Nothing happened. I’ll even buy you ice cream.”

Potter Probably didn't know about Draco’s sweet tooth, and Draco wasn’t going to say no to ice cream, even muggle ice cream. “Damn right you will.”

He could think about the weird fluttering his heart had done when that girl had thought they were together once he was back home, safe in his room.

Safe from Potter and his stupid dark hair and his stupid gorgeous smile.


	9. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally faces Ginny while Blaise forces Draco to admit what we all know--that he might be in love with the Boy-Who-Lived.

_I’m not sure why I'm writing to you, but happy birthday, you great pillock._

_Let’s never talk about this again._

_D.M._

Harry stared at the parchment, bemused. The last thing he’d expected when he’d gotten up the morning of his birthday had been to find Draco’s owl waiting for him, perched on the headboard of his bed. The bird was just as haughty and arrogant as Draco, and it had stared at Harry with narrowed eyes until he’d finally taken the letter. Then it had left without waiting for a reply. Harry wasn’t sure what Draco had felt the need to write to wish him a happy birthday, but he liked it.

They weren’t friends by any means, not yet anyway, but their outing with Teddy had gone well, and they’d had the occasion to talk. Harry was surprised at how well they’d gotten along, and he couldn’t help but wonder how different things would have been if he’d accepted Draco’s hand years ago.

They’d probably have killed each other within a week.

The war had changed both of them, and Harry had no doubt that was the reason they’d gotten along. Still, the idea of Draco Malfoy of all people writing to wish him a happy birthday was weird.

Harry flopped back onto his bed. He didn’t want to start his day, not yet. It might be his birthday, but he dreaded what was coming. He’d been invited to the Weasleys for a birthday dinner—or rather, Molly had told him he was going to be there and he’d been too scared to say no. That left him a good chunk of time to think about what he was going to tell Ginny.

There was no escaping her. He’d managed to do it for three entire months, but that was over. The thought shouldn’t have scared him as much as it did—he’d fought Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake. He could face his ex-girlfriend and tell her they weren’t getting back together.

Ginny was going to want to know why, though, and Harry wasn’t sure how to answer that. Should he tell her he saw her more like a sister than a girlfriend? Or that he kind of liked guys?

He honestly wasn’t sure if he liked only guys or some girls too. He’d never given his sexuality a lot of thought, not with impending death following him around since he’d turned eleven. He did know he’d really liked Cho and Ginny. He couldn’t deny he’d also noticed how good Draco had looked in the trousers he’d worn the other day, though. What he was or who he liked didn't matter in this case. The main reason Harry didn’t want to get back with Ginny was that he didn’t love her.

He stayed in bed that for a while, faking sleep when he heard the telltale crack of house elf apparition. He peeked through his mostly closed lids to see Tibby quickly gathering the clothes he’d abandoned on the bedroom floor the night before. A plate laden with eggs, bacon, and toast sat on the nightstand, next to a steaming mug that from the smell contained coffee.

Harry barely repressed a smile. He still needed to try to send Tibby back to Draco, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really want to. He liked knowing there was someone else in the house. He liked that he didn’t have to cook if he didn't want to, that he didn’t have to do his laundry. He liked Tibby, with her stubbornness and obvious need to take care of him.

Maybe they could continue like they were doing for a while longer, Tibby sneaking around and Harry faking ignorance. He’d have to ask Draco how he was supposed to pay her wages, though. He gave the money to pay Kreacher to Professor McGonagall since he was still working at Hogwarts, so he had no idea how it worked. He needed to pay Tibby, though. She’d more than earned it.

Harry waited until Tibby was gone—what did she think he thought happened to his dirty clothes?—to get up. No matter how much he wanted to, he really couldn’t spend the day in bed. He ate the breakfast Tibby had prepared for him and went to shower. When he came back, the empty plate and mug gone and the bed was made. Harry rolled his eyes and dressed.

The first part of his day was spent in the garden, a place Tibby hadn’t gotten to yet. Harry tore away the weeds and cleaned the earth so he’d be able to plant flowers or something. Not that anyone would take care of them when he went back to school, but still.

After lunch—he found a covered pasta plate on the steps by the back door—he showered again and went grocery shopping. He was almost late when he came back, and he left his bags on the kitchen table, hoping Tibby would take care of them, and apparated to the Burrow.

He took a few seconds to look at the house. Hogwarts would always be his home, but the Burrow wasn’t far behind. He’d spent good days there, had celebrated birthdays, had fallen in love with Ginny. He hoped Molly and Arthur wouldn’t kick him out once he talked to Ginny. She’d been a way to really become part of the family, even though he hadn’t been with her for that.  He hoped she wouldn’t be the reason he’d lose it.

Harry swallowed and strode to the door. It was open, letting the summer breeze in. Harry sidestepped a clucking chicken, smiling at the sight of Molly moving around the kitchen, no doubt busy getting his birthday dinner ready.

He knocked on the door as he entered. Molly twirled around, her face breaking into a big smile that wasn’t enough to erase the dark skin under her eyes or the new silver strands in her hair. It had been only three months, but the weight of the war and of Fred’s death was obvious on her.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, drying her hands on a tea towel and opening her arms.

Harry didn't even try to resist—he went, letting her wrap him into one of the motherly hugs he’d missed so much.

“It’s been too long,” she murmured.

Harry didn’t have an answer to that, so he patted her back. He hoped she wouldn’t cry because he never knew what to do with crying people, be they women or men.

Harry leaned away, and sure enough, she discreetly dried her eyes with her towel. “Are you hungry?” she asked, and Harry almost laughed.

“I’m okay. I can wait until later.”

Molly patted his cheek. “It won’t be long. Arthur should be home soon, and he’s bringing George with him. Charlie couldn’t come, of course, and you already know Ron and Hermione are in Australia. Bill and Fleur are coming, though, and Ginny is here. I know it’s not much of a party…”

“It’s perfect. “She didn't have to mention the people who would have been there, who _had_ been there for his past birthdays.

“Good. Ginny is upstairs if you want to go. Keep the bedroom door open.”

Harry _didn’t_ want to go, but he still climbed the stairs. Ginny was sitting crossed-legged on her bed, reading. Her bedroom door was open, and she looked up when she heard Harry. She smiled and put her book down. “Finally. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to get here.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I had a lot of things to do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what? Moping around your house all day? Or have you been too busy dating Malfoy?” She spat out the last word, and Harry winced.

“I’m not dating Malfoy.”

“Sure sounded like it when Andromeda told Mum you’ve been spending time with him.”

“And Teddy. It’s not like Draco and I have been going out on our own. He wants to see Teddy, and Andromeda doesn’t want them to be alone. That’s all.”

Ginny arched a brow. “ _Draco?_ ”

Harry was going to have a few words with Andromeda. Why was she going around saying Harry and Draco were dating? Or had Ginny understood her wrong? It was possible, even probably. “We decided it would be best for Teddy if we called each other by our first names.” She didn't need to know it had been Harry’s idea. “And no, we’re not dating. I’m honestly not sure if we’re even friends at this point.”

“Why? Why are you doing it? After everything he’s done…”

Ginny had been against Harry talking in Draco’s favor. She’d made sure he knew it, too.

“I know what he’s done better than average, Gin. I still think he doesn’t deserve Azkaban.” He knew he would never convince her of that. He’d stopped trying. “I’m not going to stop seeing him and Teddy.”

Ginny sighed. “I know. Sometimes, you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“I also don’t want to get back with you.” Harry should probably have waited. It was his birthday, and Ginny was already angry with him.

But he couldn’t.

“I know.”

“You…know?” _What?_

“You’ve avoided me for three months, Harry. That was a big clue.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He’d expected screams, maybe tears, but not Ginny’s quiet acceptance. “It’s nothing you did. The war changed me, and after, well, I finally had the time to think without being worried someone was trying to kill me.” Was he supposed to tell her he might be gay, or at the very least, bisexual? She was going to find out eventually. Maybe it would be better if he just told her. “I like guys. Not Draco,” he added, although an imagine of Draco’s ass moving under the fabric of his trousers flashed in his mind. “But, you know. Guys. In general.”

Ginny blinked. “Okay.”

“Okay?” That was all she had to say?

“It’s not like you can choose something like that, Harry. I’m not angry. Not for that. I hate that you thought you had to avoid me instead of telling me right away, but really. It’s okay.”

A huge weight lifted from Harry’s shoulders. He wasn’t going to lose his family after all. Well, not all of them anyway.

He still hadn’t told Ron.

 

****

 

“Master Blaise is being here, Master Draco.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He’d expected Blaise to come sooner, maybe right after Draco had come home from being out with Potter and Edward a few days before. “Take him to the small sitting room. I’ll be right there. Oh, and Pip? Can you please serve tea?”

Pip bowed, his ears brushing the floor. “Yes, Master Draco.”

Pip apparated away, and Draco went to stand in front of his mirror. He straightened the collar of his shirt and checked his hair. Then he waited another five minutes, just because he knew Blaise would be miffed. Draco had to take his fun where he could, especially today.

It was Potter’s birthday, and Draco had gone crazy. He’d owled him. _Owled him._ He’d owled Potter to wish him a happy birthday. He still didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Actually, the problem was that he _hadn’t_ been thinking.  But he’d remembered Granger and the weasel weren’t in the country, and he’d wanted to do something…nice. No, he really hadn’t been thinking.

Blaise was already in the sitting room when Draco got there. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, his legs crossed and his fingers tapping onto his knee. The grin he gave Draco when Draco entered was enough to tell him he wasn’t going to like what was about to happen.

Sure enough, the first words out of Blaise’s mouth were, “So, how did your date with Potter go?”

Draco gritted his teeth. “It wasn’t a date.”

“You went out with him. How do you call that?”

“Edward was with us.”

“So?”

“He’s a baby.”

“Again, so?”

Draco huffed. “It wasn’t a date,” he repeated. “I wanted to get to know Edward, and that’s what I did. The fact that my aunt doesn’t trust me with him is the only reason Potter was there.”

“Get to know? How can you get to know a baby? How old is Edward?”

“Three months old.”

Blaise guffawed. Draco wondered if he could strangle him and hide the body before Pip arrived with the tea.

“He probably doesn’t care whether you’re there or not, Draco. Honestly, you could have waited a year or two to get to know him.”

“No. I want to be in his life. He’s my cousin.”

Blaise waved elegantly. “Of course, but come on. You can’t just ignore the crush the size of Hogwarts you’ve had on Potter for years. Was it during third year or fourth that you realized you love him? Mmm, I think it was fourth. You were terrified of that dragon.”

“I am _not_ in love with Potter,” Draco snapped.

Pip chose that moment to apparate in the room, He apparently caught the end of Draco’s phrase because he squeaked and almost dropped his tray.

Blaise burst out laughing while Draco rolled his eyes and went to take the tray from Pip’s tiny hands. Pip tried to protest, but Draco waved him away. “I can fill the cups. Thank you, Pip.”

Pip apparated away with a crack, and Draco dumped the tray onto the coffee table. The cup rattled, and he had to resist the urge to throw the entire teapot into Blaise’s face. The git was still snickering, and Draco knew him well enough to know their conversation about Potter wasn’t over. The idiot managed to ruin Draco’s life even when he wasn’t present.

Blaise thankfully stayed silent while Draco got their tea ready. The moment he grabbed his cup, though, peace was over. “I don’t understand why you won’t just admit it,” he said.

“Admit what?” Not that Draco needed to be reminded what they’d been talking about before Pip had interrupted them.

“That you’re in love with Potter.”

“Why are you so fixated on this? I’m not in love with him. Honestly. Who would be?”

Blaise put his cup down and held a finger up for every point he made. “You can’t stop talking about him. I imagine that means you think about him even more, which in itself is quite a feat considering you started talking about him the day we got to Hogwarts back in first year, and you still haven’t stopped.”

Would anyone mind if Draco killed Blaise? Would anyone miss him?

“Then there’s the fact that you also can’t stop looking at him,” Blaise went on. “I haven’t seen the two of you together since sixth year, of course, but even then, when you had more _important_ things on your mind, you couldn’t _not_ look at him.”

Blaise’s mother might miss him, but it was a risk Draco was ready to take. He’d have to use his bare hands, of course. He couldn’t use his wand, not after barely escaping Azkaban.

“You know everything there is to know about him, probably more than the Daily Prophet,” Blaise continued, and Draco snorted.

“That’s not true.”

“Birthday?”

“July 31st.”

“Aww, today. Favorite Quidditch team?”

“Chudley Cannons, although if you ask me, it’s because of the horrible orange color. It probably reminds him of the weasel or something.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Favorite food?”

“Treacle tart.”

Blaise arched a brow, and Draco hated him. He hated himself for being able to answer Blaise’s questions, too, but mostly he hated Blaise. “Everyone knows those things,” he tried.

“I didn’t know about the Quidditch team and the food.”

“Then you’re as observant as Longbottom.”

“You know that’s not true.”

No, it wasn’t. Blaise wouldn’t have survived seven years in Slytherin and the war if he weren’t observant, smart, and sneaky.

Which made Draco wonder if maybe he was right.

Draco had tried to be Potter’s friend because he was famous and powerful, even at eleven. When Potter had rejected him for the weasel of all people, Draco had vowed to make both their lives hell—and he had. But it was true that things had started to change after a few years. Draco might have hated Potter, but he’d never wanted him to die, and when he’d seen him with that dragon back in fourth year, he’d been scared for him. One couldn’t be scared for a man he didn't care for, right?

Yet Draco had been, again and again, with the dragon, when the Dark Lord had returned, during the time Potter had been on the run, when he’d appeared at the Manor. When he’d died, and the Dark Lord had thought he’d won.

“I see you’re finally accepting it,” Blaise said as if he were chatting about the weather.

Draco shook his head. “There’s nothing to accept.” Maybe it would become true if he repeated it often enough.

Blaise sighed. “Honestly, Draco. The war is over. Potter is alive, which is a bloody miracle if you ask me. You’re free. Why would being in love with Potter be such a bad thing? I mean, even ignoring your feelings, being with him would be useful. You’d get to see your cousin, share Potter’s fame and power. Although you might want to start calling him Harry. Screaming _Potter_ as he makes you come might be slightly awkward.”

Draco still had time to kill Blaise.

Instead, he shook his head. “I’d be lynched. The Golden Boy, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, being manipulated into being with a Death Eater? They’d probably think I used Imperius on him, or a love potion.”

“And they’d be idiots.” Blaise leaned forward. “Why don’t you give it a try and see what happens?”

“I don’t need to give anything a try to know. He’d laugh in my face and would keep Edward from me.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Sure. Not in a good way, though.”

Blaise huffed. “I thought you were braver, that you had the bollocks to do it.”

Draco shook his head. “Just let it go, Blaise. Even if by some miracle Potter actually wanted to be with me, and I’m not saying it’s something I want, nothing would come out of it. He can’t afford something like that to happen, and I have my duty to the Malfoys to uphold. I’m the head of the family now. I need an heir, and finding a suitable wife isn’t going to be easy. Maybe I should skip the English witches and look directly in France.”

Blaise frowned. “You’re gay.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

“I know what had been planned for you before the war. Graduation, a wife, at least two children. But things changed, Draco. Your father also expected you to follow in his Death Eater’s footsteps, and we both know how well _that_ went.”

“I can’t let the family die.”

“You don’t have to. And there has to be another way, especially if doing what your father would have wanted kills you inside. You know you’ll be unhappy if you marry a woman. You almost died. You risked being sent to Azkaban. Are you really going to waste this second chance?”

Draco didn't have an answer to that.


	10. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts letters and pink T-shirts :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!

The owl flew through the open window just as Harry was about to leave his bedroom. It had been a week since he'd last seen Teddy, and it was time to spend time with him again.

Draco would be there, too.

Harry would have never thought he’d be eager to see Draco, but he was. He liked talking to Draco. Draco gave Harry another point of view on life, one Harry wouldn’t have known without him. Draco was also snarky, surprisingly deep, and so, so sweet when it came to Teddy. Once Glance from Teddy was enough to make Draco’s haughty expression melt away. Harry wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself, but he couldn’t deny it.

Hermione and Ron were going to think he was crazy when they came back.

Harry was pretty sure Ron was going to have a heart attack once he found out Harry had dumped his little sister and had started seeing Draco. Not that Harry and Draco were dating, but still.

Harry chuckled at the thought of Ron surviving the war only to be knocked down by his best friend. He had to get a laugh out of it because the alternative was too much to stand. He’d lost so many people, he wasn’t sure he could stand losing anyone else.

What if the choice was between Ron and Draco?

Harry shook his head. He didn’t have an answer to that. What he did have was a letter that from the seal, came from Hogwarts.

He gave the owl a treat and watched it fly away before turning back to his letter and opening it.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I’m sure you’ve been waiting for this and wondering if it was ever going to arrive. I hope to see you September 1 st, along with every other student._

_Professor McGonagall_

 

Harry put the first sheet of parchment on his bed and skimmed over the second one. Like Professor McGonagall had already informed him in her personal letter, Hogwarts would open on September 1st and Harry was expected to take the Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross. The usual list of books was there, too.

Merlin, it felt like an eternity had passed since he’d last been in school to learn rather than fight. He honestly wasn’t sure he could remember anything from 6th year. How was he supposed to pass the exams when he could barely remember his name? He hoped Professor McGonagall had taken that into account. He couldn’t be the only one with that problem. Even the students who’d been in school the year before instead of on the run like he had couldn’t have learned much, not with the Carrows as teachers. Maybe Harry could ask Draco how things had gone.

Harry wrinkled his nose. No, better not ask. He didn’t want to break the fragile truce and friendship between them. He folded the letter and stuck the pages under the book on his nightstand. He was running late now, and he had no doubt Draco would point it out. They’d planned to meet in front of Andromeda’s cottage five minutes ago.

No, Draco wasn’t going to be happy.

Harry left the house and apparated in front of Andromeda’s garden. Sure enough, Draco was there, tapping his foot on the ground and looking at him with an arched brow. “Do I need to buy you a watch?

“You do know there’s a spell for that, right?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, I know. I just thought you’d be more likely you actually use the thing if it was muggle.”

“Well, as you know, my birthday was last week.”

Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought Draco’s cheeks flushed when he looked away and said, “I thought we’d agreed to never talk about that.”

“You ordered me to never talk about it, but I never agreed.”

Draco snorted. “I should have known. Are you ready to go? I don’t like being late, yet because of you, I am.”

Harry waved at the gate. “Lead the way. But we’ll talk about the birthday letter, eventually.”

Draco huffed and raised his head high. It reminded Harry of Draco’s mother the few times he’d seen her before the war, but he kept that to himself.

The door opened before they reached it. Andromeda looked at them, her expression between worried and questioning, Teddy in her arms. Harry swooped him from his grandmother’s arms, and he laughed, the sound bubbling and wet. “Hey there, Teddy. Already awake?”

“That would be because you were late, Po—Harry,” Draco drawled.

Andromeda’s eyebrows shot high on her forehead. Harry chuckled. “It was only five minutes, Draco.”

“And those were five minutes too many.”

Andromeda cleared her throat. “Boys.”

“Hello,” Harry said, kissing her cheek.

She softened. “Harry.” To Harry’s surprise, she looked at Draco. “Draco. Teddy woke up a little while ago, so I fed him and got him ready. Are you taking him to the park again?”

“I thought we could go shopping. You said he needed new toys?”

“Yes. He keeps vanishing the ones he already has. Don’t buy anything expensive. I don’t know how long it will be before he decides to vanish the new ones, too.”

“Vanishing?” Draco asked. “But he’s only three months old.”

“Accidental magic,” Harry told him.

“Vanishing toys doesn’t seem accidental.”

Harry would have rolled his eyes if Draco hadn’t been so cute. He was seriously worried about Teddy, and while that wasn’t a surprise anymore, the expression was odd on his face. “Teddy is perfectly fine,” he told Draco. “We take him to all his appointments with his healer, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

Draco didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded. He bit his lower lip and peeked at Andromeda, then back at Harry, as if he considered Harry safer. “Would you mind if I bought him something? You’d be there to see what, of course,” he added in a rush.

Harry looked at Andromeda. No matter how much he wanted to say yes, she was Teddy’s legal guardian, and she had the last word. She looked worried and torn, and Draco’s hesitant smile faded away.

“I’ll make sure the toys are appropriate to Teddy’s age,” Harry suggested. He wanted Andromeda to say yes. He wanted the smile on Draco’s lips to come back.

“That’s not what I'm worried about, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not like he’s going to give Teddy something dark or dangerous. I told you, I’ll be with him, and we’ll visit a muggle store anyway. Besides, he’s Teddy’s cousin. He wouldn’t hurt him.”

Andromeda hesitated, and Draco stared at her. His shoulders relaxed when she nodded stiffly. “All right,” she said. “Make sure to bring him back around tea time.”

“Okay.” Harry hugged Teddy before handing him to Draco.

Draco’s eyes widened, but this time, he didn’t protest. He was still a bit awkward, but he beamed when Teddy’s hair turned blond as soon as Draco held him close.

Harry strapped the carrier Andromeda handed him on his chest and took Teddy back while Draco accepted the ever-present diaper bag from his aunt.

They left Andromeda at her door and headed to the gate. Once out of the garden, Draco grabbed Harry’s arm without being asked and looked at him expectantly.

Harry muffled a laugh and apparated them, keeping his gaze on Draco to see his first reaction to the place they were going to. He wasn’t disappointed. Draco looked around and frowned. “Where are we?”

“The mall I usually shop at.”

“Mall?”

Harry gestured toward the entrance. He always apparated into a hidden corner of the parking lot, so they had to walk a bit before they got there. Draco kept looking around, and Harry wondered if he’d ever seen a car from how focused he was on them.

“It’s a big building with lots of different stores,” he explained as they walked.

“Oh. And we’re going to find toys here?”

“Yes. You can find pretty much anything you need.”

The first store they passed when they entered made Draco stop. He stood in front of the window, staring at the children’s clothes on display. “And you use muggle money to buy things?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Draco looked at Harry. “I don’t have muggle money.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought about that. “I can lend you money. You can give it back to me next time,” he added, just in case Draco decided to freak out over this new debt. “But this store has clothes for children. You won’t find anything for you.”

To his surprise, Draco blushed and looked at the floor. “It’s not for me,” he muttered.

“Oh. Well, we can go in. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll buy it.” Maybe he wanted to buy Teddy clothes?

Draco said something, but it was too low for Harry to catch it.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry asked.

Draco took a deep breath. “The pink T-shirt with the mermaid.”

Harry cocked his head. “You want to buy the pink T-shirt?”

“With the mermaid, yes. Although the muggle idea of mermaids is quite wrong.”

“Why?”

“You’ve seen mermaids. They’re nothing like that picture.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I meant why do you want that shirt?”

Draco sighed. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.” Why would Draco Malfoy buy a pink mermaid T-shirt destined to a child?

“It’s for Tibby,” Draco finally admitted. “She likes pink and things like mermaids and unicorns.”

“You…buy Tibby clothes?”

“Of course.” Draco straightened his back. “She’s free. Actually, she’s your elf now, so you should be the one who buys her clothes.”

“Doesn’t she take care of that herself.”

Draco’s cheeks flushed even more. “Wizards don’t have this kind of clothing.”

“So, you buy her clothes to make her happy?” He could have bought any kind of clothes, or even give Tibby towels or old wizard clothes. Harry had seen house elves wearing that kind of things.

Instead of answering, Draco strode toward the store entrance. “We’re losing time, Potter.”

Harry watched him go. “Harry!” he yelled after him.

Draco was buying Tibby pink T-shirts because he wanted to make her happy.

Merlin. He was adorable.

 

****

 

Draco wanted to disappear. He could feel Potter’s gaze on his back, watching him, but he didn't turn to check if Potter was following him. He stomped his way into the store, his head held high, only to stop when he realized he still didn't have muggle money.

“Come on,” Potter said from behind him. “Let’s pick up the T-shirt.”

He didn’t taunt Draco or tease him, and Draco was glad. When they left the store, Draco’s purchase safe in a bag, Draco thought Potter would ignore the entire situation. He should have known better.

“You bought Tibby her unicorn T-shirt?” he asked.

“Yes,” Draco answered stiffly, hoping his tone would give Potter a hint.

It didn’t.

Either Potter was blind and deaf, or he just didn’t care, because he asked, “I thought you’d never been in a mall.”

“I haven’t.”

“Where did you buy it, then?”

“In a muggle store in London. And before you ask, yes, I paid it. I _am_ able to use muggle money. I just didn’t know we were going shopping today, so I don’t have any.” It probably would have been hell to brave Diagon Alley, but the goblins in Gringotts didn’t care who Draco was as long as he kept his money with them.

Draco and Potter wandered in and out of stores, and Potter didn’t mention the T-shirt again. Draco was glad. He didn't like anyone knowing how much he cared about Tibby. Not even Blaise knew—thank Merlin for small mercies.

Potter idly chatted, and Draco listened with half an ear until Potter mentioned his birthday again. “Why weren’t Granger and the weasel there anyway?” he asked.

“They’re in Australia.”

“And they’re there because…”

“Because Hermione erased her parents’ memories before the war and sent them there. They don’t know about her anymore.”

“And she went to get them back.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Draco knew the portkeys to remote places such as Australia weren’t yet back to their pre-war efficiency and regularity so Granger might not have been able to wait to celebrate Potter’s birthday with him. He could have gone with them, though. It would surely have been more interesting than spending time with Draco and Edward.

Potter grimaced. “They asked me to, but they’re still in that lovey-dovey phase of their relationship. They spend more time snogging than talking. It would have been awkward.”

Draco shuddered at the thought. “Granger could have so much better.”

Potter arched a brow. “Did you just compliment Hermione?”

“No. I just said she could have better than the weasel. She’s much smarter than him. And that’s _not_ a compliment,” he added. “It’s a fact. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Yeah, well. Whatever she can have, she chose Ron. I’m happy for them, really I am, but I’ll scream if I have to watch them snog again.”

“You could snog your girlfriend to pass the time.” Draco hated the girl weasel, so, so much.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Draco frowned. No matter what Blaise thought, Draco had always known Potter was taken. Everyone did, courtesy of the Daily Prophet. He expected the engagement to be announced any day now. “What about girl Weasley?”

“Ginny isn’t my girlfriend. We broke up before the war.”

“But you’re back together now.”

“No, and we never will. I told her that the day of my birthday.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to get back with her? Isn’t that what you want? The perfect wife, the perfect family, children, probably a dog, too.” Merlin, Draco really hated the girl Weasley.

Harry shook his head. For some reason, he looked amused. “I do want a family and kids, and even a dog, but not anytime soon. And I don’t want them with her.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think I might be gay, or bisexual.”

Draco blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again. “You can be with her if you’re bisexual,” he stupidly said because it was the only thing he could think of.

“I could if I didn’t see her as a sister.”

“Why were you with her in 6th year if she’s like your sister?” And why was Draco’s heart beating so hard it felt like it was about to thump out of his chest?

“Eh. I think it was easy, you know? I mean, I care about her, love her, even. I also love her family. She was…safe. I knew that with her I’d get everything you mentioned before without having to take any risk.”

“You don’t want things to be easy.”

Potter shook his head. “That’s not exactly true. I do think some things can be easy, have to even, but love shouldn’t. It should be passionate and full of feelings, challenging. I know it doesn’t stay that way forever, but at least in the beginning, I want whoever I’m with to do that, to make me feel that way.” He shrugged. “Ginny just wasn’t that for me. So don’t worry, we won’t start snogging or screaming at each other in the middle of the Great Hall. The break-up was amicable.”

“I wouldn’t care even if you did scream in the middle of the Great Hall since I won’t be at Hogwarts anytime soon.”

Potter frowned and stopped. He absently dried Edward’s mouth from the drool as he asked, “Why not? Haven’t you received the letter?”

Draco had, earlier that day. Professor McGonagall had even added a personal note to tell him he was welcome and expected to attend and that she’d make sure he was safe. Draco believed her, but it didn’t mean he wanted to subject himself to sneers, insults, and possibly, physical pain. “You can’t be seriously asking why I won’t go back.”

“I guess I can understand why, but is it worth not finishing school?”

That was what hurt the most. Draco had always been a good student. He like learning, prided himself on the good grades he had. He even liked Hogwarts, where he could be himself more than he could at the Manor. “You know as well as I do that no one wants me there, and they’ll make sure I know it.”

Potter grinned. “Nothing different, then.”

Draco ignored him. “They’ll beat me, insult me. Probably try to kill me. I don’t fancy spending an entire school year alone and looking over my shoulder.”

“But you won’t be alone.”

“Of course, I will. Crabbe is dead. Goyle is in Azkaban. I don’t know if Blaise and Pansy will come back, but if they do, they might not want to be seen with me. It would hurt their reputation.” Not that Blaise cared much about that, but his mother did.

“I don’t care.”

Draco couldn’t have understood that right. “What?”

“You won’t be alone. I'm your friend. Right?”

Draco wanted to say no. He wanted to throw back the handshake in Potter’s face, the years they’d spent hating each other. It would have been satisfying.

But how could he do that when Potter was looking at him with a smile and trusting eyes? He really considered himself Draco’s friend, and Draco had wanted that for so long.

He nodded stiffly. “You’re my friend, but you’re still only one person. You won’t be able to stop the entire school from trying to kill me.”

Potter leaned closer, and Draco held his breath. “If you promise you’ll come back, I swear I’ll make sure no one touches you. I’ll stick with you and become your shadow if I need to.”

The thought shouldn’t have been so appealing.

“Come on,” Potter insisted.

Draco sighed. His mother would want him to go back, as would Blaise, probably. “All right,” he agreed. “But at the first beating, I'm going home.”

Potter beamed, and it was beautiful. “Great! So, when do you want to go to Diagon Alley to buy books and supplies?”

Oh, Merlin. Draco hadn’t thought of that.


	11. Past and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Narcissa talk before he and Draco go to Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's this week's chapter, and thanks everyone for reading :) I finally finished plotting this, and it should be 20 chapters long, unless Harry and Draco decide to deviate from my notes :)

Harry checked his reflection one more time and nodded at himself. He looked okay, certainly good enough to go to Diagon Alley without having the Daily Prophet wonder if he’d slept in his clothes the night before. He wasn’t too sure he looked good enough to go to Malfoy Manor, but it wasn’t like he was actually visiting or anything. He was just picking up Draco so they could go buy their school supplies. Besides, the manor still made him angsty.

He honestly didn’t know how Draco and his mother managed to live there after what had happened. Of course, they hadn’t been the ones who’d been locked in the dungeons, but Harry had seen enough through the link he’d had to Voldemort to know their lives hadn’t been a picnic either. They’d also lived there all their lives, at least in Draco’s case. There was probably some ruled that said they couldn’t move away or something, and they had more good memories than bad ones.

“Doesn’t Master Harry want to change?” a voice squeaked behind Harry.

He turned to face Tibby, grinning when he saw she was wearing her pink mermaid T-shirt. “Are you finally coming out of hiding?” he asked instead of answering.

Tibby narrowed his eyes. She was a weird mix of defiance and compliance, and Harry loved that. She reminded him of Dobby, although he’d been very clear that he loved his freedom. Tibby seemed content to work for Harry—and Draco before him—but she also didn't hide what she felt.

“Tibby has been working for Master Harry for weeks.”

“I know.”

“Tibby would be worried if Master Harry didn’t. And does Master Harry also know he should wear a shirt and robes to visit Master Draco?”

Harry looked at his green Holyhead Harpies T-shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”

“It is not being appropriate to court Master Draco. Master Draco is a great wizard with a good family. Master Harry is to be suitable.”

Harry blinked, his mind stuck on one word. “Court?”

Tibby looked at him like he was stupid. “For wedding.”

Harry gaped. “I'm not marrying Draco!”

“Why?”

“We’re friends, Tibby. Nothing else.” And yeah, Harry might think Draco’s arse was delectable, but it didn't mean he wanted to date him. Why did everyone think that? “So yes,” he continued. “I'm going to go dressed like this since this is _not_ a date.”

Tibby squeaked as if surprised, but she didn't add anything, just bowed at him while glaring.

“Thanks for everything you’ve been doing around the house,” Harry told her before leaving his bedroom. He wanted to escape before she started scolding him or asking him what was wrong with Draco.

Nothing was.

Harry apparated outside the manor’s gate, like the last time he’d been there. He wasn’t surprised when Pip appeared behind the gate and waved his hand, opening it so Harry could walk in, his ears dragging in a puddle when he bowed.

“Hey, Pip. Is Draco coming?”

“Master Draco is being busy, Master Harry Potter. Master Harry Potter is to come inside.”

Harry hadn’t expected that, but at least he wouldn’t have to wait in front of the gate. “Lead the way.”

Pip could have apparated them to the house, but he seemed to take pleasure into making things as official and pompous as he could. Harry went along. It didn't cost him anything.

Pip trotted in front of him, his too-long T-shirt almost touching the floor.

Harry expected either to be told to wait in front of the door or in the entrance, but Pip led him to a small sitting room right next to it.

Narcissa Malfoy was there.

Harry froze for a few seconds, wondering what Pip was up to. Mrs. Malfoy was reading, but she looked up and put away her book when Pip announced, “Master Harry Potter is being here, Mistress Cissa.”

“Thank you, Pip. Mr. Potter, please. Take a seat. Pip, can you bring tea?”

“Oh, it’s not necessary,” Harry said. He had nothing against Mrs. Malfoy, but it didn't mean he wanted to have tea with her. “I'm just here to pick up Draco.”

She smiled, but her eyes were steely. “I know. I’d like to talk to you about my son if you have a few minutes. Draco doesn’t know you’re here yet.”

Harry should have known. He nodded at her and went to sit in front of her. Pip popped away, and Harry settled in for a no doubt uncomfortable chat.

“I know you convinced Draco to go back to Hogwarts,” Mrs. Malfoy said.

“I’m sure he would have gone back even if I hadn’t said anything.”

“Why, Mr. Potter? Why did you talk for Draco at his trial? Why did you give him the opportunity to get to know my sister and her grandson?” She leaned forward, her eyes boring into Harry’s. “Why are you so friendly, Mr. Potter? I know the history you have with my son. No one would have blamed you for letting the Wizengamot send him to Azkaban. The Daily Prophet certainly wouldn’t have given you as much grief as it did if you had. Yet you didn’t.”

Harry had expected her question. It was what everyone had asked him after the trial. “Did you know I had a…special link with Voldemort?” he asked, slightly surprised when she didn't flinch at the name.

“You don’t mean how he tried to kill you as a child because of the prophecy, do you?”

Harry wasn’t going to go into details, but he could tell her a few things about the link. “I could see through his eyes, sometimes, especially in emotionally strong moments. For example, when he tortured someone or had someone tortured for him.”

Understanding bloomed on Mrs. Malfoy’s face. “You saw what he did to Draco.”

“And what Draco was forced to do. I also was there when he failed to kill Professor Dumbledore. No matter what happened between Draco and me over the years, we were children. He didn’t deserve to spend any length of time in Azkaban, even with the dementors gone. The only thing he tried to do once he realized what he got himself into was to save himself and his family. I can’t blame him for that.”

Harry could have kissed Pip when he apparated into the room with a tray. He might have if he hadn’t known Pip would have been terrified.

Mrs. Malfoy stayed silent as Pip served tea and popped away. “Thank you,” she said when Pip was gone.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

She smiled. “Oh, but there is. Not only did you save my son from Azkaban, but you also gave him something he wanted for years.”

“It’s nothing.” Harry knew she was talking about his friendship, and he wasn’t touching that topic, not with her.

She nodded, and Harry hoped that was the end of that.

He should have known better.

“Draco told me you’re taking him to Diagon Alley,” Mrs. Malfoy said.

“Uh, yes. We need to buy the supplies we’ll need for school.”

“He hasn’t been there since before sixth year. It’s not going to be easy. People won’t be pleased.”

“I know.”

“Yet you don’t care.”

Harry shrugged. “If I cared about what people I don’t know think of me, I wouldn’t do anything, ever.”

“You’ll make sure nothing happens to him?”

“As much as I can. I can’t promise you no one will say or do anything, but if they do, I’ll protect him.”

Mrs. Malfoy stared at Harry. “You’re not like I imagined you to be.”

Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, so he sipped on his tea instead of answering. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

“I know you don’t owe my family or me anything,” Mrs. Malfoy continued after a while. “In fact, we are the ones who owe you. I’d still like to ask you for a favor if I can.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“You convinced Draco to go back to Hogwarts, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. I’d like to ask you to ask you to protect him once you’re there. The other students won’t be happy to see him, not after what happened during the war.

“I already told him I would. He wouldn’t have agreed to come back otherwise.”

“Thank you. I hope your friendship with Draco hasn’t caused problems with your friends and family.”

It hadn’t since only a few of them knew, but Mrs. Malfoy didn’t need to know that. “They’re okay with it.”

“Even Miss Weasley?”

“Ginny? Yes.” She hadn’t exactly been happy about it, but since they weren’t together anymore, it didn't matter.

“I can’t help but find that surprising. The Weasley and the Malfoy families have never gotten along.”

That was an understatement, at least from what Harry had seen. “I can’t say they like the idea, but they trust me, and I trust Draco.”

“Please thank your girlfriend and her family for me, then.”

Harry sighed and wondered how long people were going to assume he and Ginny were together. Probably until the story got out on the Daily Prophet. “I’ll tell them, but Ginny isn’t my girlfriend. Not anymore.”

Mrs. Malfoy arched a brow. “Oh?”

She didn't ask why, but Harry felt the need to tell her anyway. “I’m gay.” At the very least it might tell him what she thought of the issue and how she might react to the news if Draco ever decided to tell her. Harry hoped he would because he wouldn’t want anyone to be trapped in a loveless marriage.

He was glad when she nodded and asked, “Do you have a boyfriend, then?”

“Ah, no, not yet. It’s all very new.”

“I see.”

Harry didn’t know what she saw, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He cleared his throat. “Do you know if Pip already told Draco I’m here?”

“I asked him to give us ten minutes to talk. Draco should be down shortly.”

Harry sighed in relief. He wasn’t surprised Mrs. Malfoy had wanted to talk to him. He knew how much her son meant to her. He hoped that meant she’d accept Draco when and if he decided to tell her he was gay.

Mars. Malfoy seemed to have said everything she wanted to say because she was quiet after that. Harry sipped on his tea while he waited for Draco, relieved when he burst in through the door not even five minutes later.

He looked around, eyes wide and a bit bewildered, his gaze stopping on Harry. “Mother. Pip told me you wanted to talk to Harry.”

Mrs. Malfoy nodded.

“Oh.” Draco looked worried, and Harry half expected him to ask what had been said.

Instead, Draco schooled his expression and nodded. “Very well. Harry, are you ready to go?”

Harry put his cup down. “Yes.” He’d been ready for the past fifteen minutes, and he couldn’t wait to leave.

“Let’s go, then. Mother, I’ll see you later. Do you need anything from Diagon Alley?”

“No, thank you.”

Draco kissed his mother’s cheek. Harry wasn’t sure what to do—shake her hand? Kiss it?—so he just stood there awkwardly and said, “Thank you for the tea and the chat, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Thank you for giving me peace of mind, Mr. Potter. And please, call me Narcissa. I suspect we’ll see quite a lot of each other in the future.”

 

****

 

Draco rushed Harry out of the sitting room, his mother’s words ringing in his ears. _We’ll see quite a lot of each other in the future._ What had she meant with that? Draco hoped Harry wouldn’t ask because he wouldn’t know how to answer. He had no idea what she meant, except maybe that she thought Harry and Draco would remain friends.

He hoped so.

“I like your mother.”

Draco looked at Harry. “What?”

“Your mother. I like her.”

“Oh.”

“Ready to go?”

Draco shook himself. His mother’s behavior might puzzle him, but it didn’t mean he had to obsess over it. She’d tell him what she was up to when she was ready. She always did. “Yes.”

“Want to apparate with me?”

Draco wanted to say no, but the option of feeling Harry up a little won. When they finally walked through the gate and Harry held his arm out, Draco took it, carefully looking away from him. Harry apparated them in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and any pleasure Draco might have had at touching him vanished. Draco’s stomach suddenly felt like lead, and he straightened, raising his head high and schooling his expression.

“I don’t like your face.”

Draco frowned at Harry. “I’m sorry?” Had everyone gone mad today?

Harry waved at Draco’s face. “Your expression. As soon as we got here, you became all haughty and stuff.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sure you do. You have the Malfoy expression right now, not the Draco one. I understand why, but I don’t like it.”

 _Great._ So Harry was able to see right through Draco. When had that happened? “Shall we go?” Draco asked, deciding distracting Harry was his best option. “Our supplies won’t buy themselves.”

Harry hesitated, and Draco wondered if he was going to push. He didn’t. He opened the Leaky Cauldron’s door and walked in. Draco took a deep breath and followed him.

The room went immediately silent.

Draco gritted his teeth and held his chin high as he followed Harry to the back of the shop. The whispers started as soon as they stepped forward. They were better than the insults and hexes Draco had expected, but he still hated it. Harry didn’t seem to mind, and he started chatting as if the situation was entirely normal.

“You have your list?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I know you’re not taking Divination.”

Draco snorted. “I can’t believe you are, although I know you enjoy doing nothing. I suppose having that one hour to sleep is a nice thing.”

The witch they passed next to gasped and stared at Harry as if she expected him to punch Draco.

Harry laughed instead. “That’s exactly why I kept it. I need an easy class if I'm going to have to deal with Potions.”

“Still want to be an Auror, then?”

Harry hesitated, and Draco leaned closer. He liked the feeling of being one of Harry’s confidants, even though he knew he couldn’t compare to Granger or the weasel. “Honestly?” Harry asked, glancing at Draco. “I don’t know. I mean, I wanted to, before, and everyone expects me to do it considering the past few years.”

“Few? You’ve been fighting the worst wizard of the last forty or so years since you were one.”

“I really didn’t do anything back then.”

“All right, since you were eleven, then. After what you did over the past year, I'm surprised the Ministry hasn’t already offered you a job.” When Harry didn’t answer, Draco looked at him. The slight blush on his face as he pushed open the door and they stepped in the small courtyard told Draco everything he wanted to know. “They did, didn’t they?” he asked, both appalled and delighted.

Harry huffed. “Yeah, they did. I said no.”

“Of course, you did. You’re Saint Potter. You probably think you don’t deserve it.”

Harry glared and tapped his wand on the brick wall. “I don’t. I haven’t finished school yet, and I don’t see why I should be given a job when I’m not qualified for it.”

Draco wasn’t surprised. “Killing the Dark Lord makes you qualified.”

“It doesn’t. I killed Voldemort, yes, but it’s not like I did it alone. Look, can we drop this? I really don’t like this conversation.”

“Tell me what you’d like to do if you won’t be an Auror, then.”

“I never said I wouldn’t be an Auror, just that I wasn’t sure of it.”

“Humour me.”

“I would if I knew the answer.”

“Please.” Even I can tell you what you’d be good at, and it’s not being an Auror.”

Harry stopped walking and looked at Draco. That was when Draco realized they were in the middle of Diagon Alley and literally _everyone_ was staring at them. Harry didn't seem to either notice or care. “What?”

Draco tried to ignore the stares and focused on Harry. “Teacher, of course. Possibly at Hogwarts. I think Professor Potter has a certain sound to it.”

“You really think I’d be a good teacher?”

“Yes.”

“And what should I teach?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course. I thought it was obvious. I might not have been part of your little group in fifth year, but I have eyes. I saw how good your students are.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and started walking toward the apothecary. “I don’t know. You think kids would listen to me?”

“Who wouldn’t? You’re the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, and before you protest, it’s true. Everyone knew your name before May. What happened with the Dark Lord only made you more interesting. They’ll hang on your every word.”

“I'm too young to teach.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You’d have to ask Professor McGonagall, but even if you can’t start next year, you could assist the teacher.”

The witch behind the counter stared at them with wide eyes as they shopped, but she didn’t say anything. They paid and left, headed to Flourish and Blotts. Draco noticed someone snapping pictures. They’d be on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning, and Draco wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or snug. Probably annoyed. He could imagine what the article would say.

“You should talk to McGonagall,” he told Harry. “See what you need to study to become the Defense teacher.”

“Maybe.”

“Talking to her doesn’t mean you have to go through with it.  You know what you have to study to be an Auror. You might as well find out if you have to add classes to that just in case.”

“You think I could get out of Potions?”

Draco grinned. “No. Honestly, I don’t understand why you hate Potions so much, especially now that Professor Snape doesn’t teach it. You were decent in sixth year, although that might be because Professor Slughorn isn’t half as good as Professor Snape.”

Talking about Severus always made Draco’s eyes prickle, but he didn’t want to stop. There was no better way to remember someone.

“You were close to him.”

Draco blinked at Harry. “To Professor Snape? Yes. He was a family friend.” Draco had seen him more often than he had his parents, especially since he’d started school.

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss. He was a hero.”

“He would have hexed you just for thinking that, let alone say it out loud. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

Draco had hated Severus for a while, and it made his death even worse because he had never apologized. He’d been stupid, thinking Severus wanted to steal his glory or something. Severus had only been trying to protect him, and even though Draco knew Severus had known he was sorry for some of the things he’d said, he hated not being able to tell him he was in person. He hoped Severus understood, wherever he was.

“I guess being a teacher is out, then,” Harry said.

“Because you’re bad at Potions?”

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t in sixth year.”

Harry’s cheeks darkened. “I, well, I used Professor Snape’s old textbook. It was filled with notes and stuff.”

Draco stopped walking, uncaring that he was in the middle of the street. “You cheated. Saint Potter, the wizarding world’s savior, cheated in Potions.” He was delighted.

“I wouldn’t call it cheating,” Harry protested.

“How would you call using the work of another student to get good grades, then?” Draco briefly wondered if he was pushing too much, being too teasing, but Harry didn't look angry. Embarrassed, yes, but not angry.

“Yeah, okay,” he admitted. “I cheated.”

“And you don’t want to do it this year? Too noble for that?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione would have my head if I did. She almost did in sixth year. But it’s not possible anyway. I hid the book in the Room of Requirement.”

The memories of flames licking at Draco’s skin, of Harry’s body in front of him on the broom, hit Draco. He shook his head, trying to ignore them, to ignore the heat and the screams.

Harry frowned and stepped toward him, his hand reaching out, his mouth opening to say something. He was interrupted before he could.

“Bloody Death Eater scum should be rotting in Azkaban,” a man muttered.

Draco hated those words, but he was grateful for them, for the venomous tone. It snapped him out of his memories before he could make a fool of himself in public.

He realized too late that Harry, of course, had heard the words too. His expression hardened, and he turned toward the man, his hand going to the pocket where Draco knew he kept his wand. “What did you say?” he asked, and his calm tone was scarier than an angry outburst would have been.

The man who’d spoken seemed to realize that. He paled and looked around, maybe for help. People were already starting to stop to watch what was happening, and the photographer was snapping picture after picture.

For some reason, having people watching seemed to spur the man on. He straightened, and Draco wondered how stupid he was. Did he really think fighting with Harry Potter would give him anything except a black eye and maybe five minutes of glory if even that?

“I said the Death Eater should be rotting in Azkaban,” the man repeated.

The people watching started to whisper.

“And that’s where he would be if he’d been guilty of anything,” Harry said, still calm.

“He has the Mark.”

Harry pointed at his forehead. “So? I have one too.”

The man sputtered. “Not that mark.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, his wand in his hand, and stared. “Where were you during the war? Fighting Death Eaters? Helping the Muggle-borns to safety?”

Whatever the man had been doing during the war, he didn't seem to appreciate Harry’s question. He raised his want toward Draco, and Draco held his breath as the people around them gasped.

Harry reacted, fast as lightning, his want slashing in front of him. “Expelliarmus!”

The man hadn’t expected it—the idiot—and his wand went flying. Harry caught it easily. “You don’t know anything,” he said. “You have no idea what Draco and his family went through and why, and you have no right to attack him.”

Harry threw the wand, and it clattered to the ground in front of the man. Harry looked around, his gaze lingering on every single person around them, especially on the photographer. “The war is over. By attacking people who were declared innocent, who are innocent, you’re creating more pain and hate. That’s not the way to heal. It’s not what the people who died for a world free of hate and violence would have wanted.”

Draco was in awe. He’d known Harry would protect him if he needed it, but seeing it was different. No one had ever defended him that was, not even his father. Yet Harry had, even after what Draco had done, the past they shared. He’d given Draco a second chance even when Draco hadn’t thought he deserved it. He wasn’t ashamed of it, of letting people know.

Draco was in trouble. He was fucked. He was completely in love with Harry Potter.


	12. Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione are finally back from Australia, and Draco and his mother talk about their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to everyone reading this :) I never thought I'd get so many comments and kudos when I started the fic!

Harry bounced his knee and checked the time again. He should have gone to the Ministry, but Hermione had been adamant that she and Ron could make it home on their own, and there was no way to win an argument with her, so Harry hadn’t even tried. He was starting to wonder if he should have, though. He was so bloody nervous, he felt like he’d bolt from his seat any second.

And he did.

The second he heard the front door open—which was a feat in itself considering he was upstairs in the drawing room trying to read his new Potions textbook and wondering why he’d decided to go back to school. He’d also been obsessing about what he was going to tell Ron and Hermione, and he still didn’t have an answer even though they were home.

“Harry?” Hermione called, and Harry propelled himself downstairs. No matter what he’d tell them, he’d missed them.

They were in the entrance, a sight for sore eyes. Hermione’s hair was as bushy as always, but her skin was darker than it had been when she’d left more than a month before. Ron, on the other hand, wasn’t tanned. No, he was _red_ , almost as much as the tomatoes Harry had eaten for lunch. And under the red were scattered thousands of freckles, more than Harry had ever seen on him.

They both grinned at Harry. Hermione was in his arms as soon as his feet touched the entrance floor. Harry buried his nose in her hair, feeling more settled than he had in a long time. Ron and Hermione were family, and they anchored him like nothing else could. Draco might, someday, but for now, Harry’s feelings for him were too confused and messy. Draco was important to Harry, but for other reasons.

“Hey, mate,” Ron said. “I half expected you to move to the Burrow while we were gone.”

Hermione finally leaned away and looked at Harry. “You don’t look bad.”

Harry laughed. “Jeesh, thanks. You expected me to?”

She shrugged. “We left you alone.”

“I'm all right, Hermione. I swear. I was busy for most of the time you were away, so don’t worry so much.”

“I won’t, not now that we’re back. And just in time to go to Diagon Alley and buy the things we’ll need for school. You kept our letters, right?”

“On the dresser in your room.”

She beamed. “Good. We can go tomorrow.”

“Oh, I already went.” He should tell them about Draco. They were going to find out anyway.

“That’s okay. I’ll go with Ron. Oh, Molly invited us for dinner today.”

“I know.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Of course.”

“All right. Let us take our bags upstairs, and I’ll tell you what happened in Australia.” She leaned forward to grab one of the bags on the floor, but Tibby appeared before she touched it.

Hermione jumped back, Ron catching her before she could fall. Tibby ignored them and touched the bags, popping away with them. Harry had no doubt Hermione would find their clothes clean and neatly folded in their dresser within a few hours.

“That’s not Kreacher,” Ron pointed out.

“Congratulations on having eyes.”

Ron chuckled and punched Harry’s should. “Shut up. Where’d you got that elf?”

Right. Ron didn’t know Draco had been behind the chocolates and everything else. “She, uh, decided she wanted to work for me, and he won’t leave.” That was close enough to the truth, although from the way Hermione’s eyes narrowed, she wasn’t fooled.

Her name is Tibby,” Harry went on, ignoring her. “She likes to sneak around when she thinks I don’t see her. She also likes pink, unicorns, and mermaids.”

Ron blinked. “Okay. She’s going to take care of our bags, right?”

Hermione slapped his chest. “Ron!”

He rubbed the spot, even though Harry knew she hadn’t really hurt him. “What? I want to go see Mum.”

“You’ll see her later.”

“But I wanted to talk to her before everyone else got there.”

“You want to go so you can have something to eat.”

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, and Harry wondered if it hurt. It looked like it did. “The food in Australia was good, but…”

“Nothing like your mother’s.”

Ron grinned. “Exactly.”

“Fine, go. I’ll clean up, and Harry and I will join you later.”

Ron frowned. “Are you sure? I can stay.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go. I'll be okay with Harry.”

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry, grinning when Harry nodded. “We’ll see each other later, eh?” he said before leaving the entrance.

Harry relaxed. He hated it because Ron was his best friend, but he was so bloody nervous about how he’d react to the news about Draco.

“Okay,” Hermione said. “He’s gone. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really.”

“You will anyway. I’ll make some tea. You can talk while I work.”

Harry followed her to the kitchen and sat at the table as she gathered what she’d need. “This place is spotless,” she said.

“Tibby.”

“She’s Malfoy’s elf?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t take no for an answer, and neither does he.”

“Does he consider his debts paid?”

Harry didn't know, so he shrugged. He and Draco hadn’t talked about the debt thing in a while. He liked to think Draco spent time with him because he enjoyed it, not because he thought he had no choice.

“Have you asked him?” Hermione asked.

“No.”

She huffed. “Honestly, Harry. We’re not kids anymore. You can’t continue to fight with him.”

“Who said we were fighting?”

“You won’t even ask him if he thinks his debt is paid.”

“That’s because it doesn’t matter.” And it really didn’t. Harry had given in to Draco just so he’d stop obsessing over his imaginary debt.

“It doesn’t matter?”

“No. We’re friends, and friends don’t have debts.” There. Harry had confessed.

Hermione stared at him for so long he wondered if he’d somehow frozen her. “Hermione?”

She shook her head, filled the mugs with steaming water and tea, and brought them to the table, sitting in front of him. “You’re friends with Malfoy?” she asked.

“With Draco.” Malfoy was someone else in Harry’s eyes. Malfoy was the boy he’d fought with for years, the one he’d made fun of, the one he’d hated. He wasn’t sure why that separation was so important for him, but it was.

“With Draco,” Hermione conceded. “I’m not sure he’d like me calling him that way, but okay. How did that happen, Harry? I mean, I know you spoke at his trial, but I thought it was because you were doing what you thought was right.”

“It was. We became friends after you and Ron left.”

“How? No offense, but I don’t think friendly when I think about him.”

“But he is. I now he’s all prickly and a bit of an asshole. But the war changed him, and honestly, I think a lot of what happened since first year happened because he was spoiled. He still is, but the war showed him how low he could fall, and he learned from it.”

“So what, you started taking after Tibby happened?”

“Yeah. I convinced him to meet Teddy, and we’ve been spending time together since then. We even went to Diagon Alley together the other day.” It had been all over the Daily Prophet the following day, with speculations of what Draco was doing to keep Harry close. Harry’s favorites had been blackmail, love potion, paying him, and that they’d been in a relationship since first year. He’d even written to Draco about it.

Draco hadn’t been amused.

“You want Ron and me to give him a chance,” Hermione said.

“Yes. I don’t want to lose you guys, but I don’t want to lose him either. I know it won’t be easy, especially for Ron, but I figure that if _I_ managed to befriend Draco, anyone can.”

“I suppose. I’ll certainly try since it’s so important for you, and I know Ron will, too. He might be angry for a while, but he’ll come around.”

Harry hoped so, especially since that wasn’t then the only revelation Harry had for him. “There’s something else,” he said.

“I’m almost scared. Are you going to tell me you became best friends with Lucius Malfoy?”

“Merlin, no! No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just, well, I broke up with Ginny. For good.”

Hermione tapped her fingers on her mug. “I suspected you’d do that.”

Harry couldn’t look up as he finally confessed. “I'm gay, Hermione. Or I think I am anyway.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t Hermione getting up and throwing herself over the table to hug him. She almost strangled him with her arms, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It meant they were okay, that she didn't care that he liked guys. Of course, she didn't know he liked Draco, but Harry wasn’t going to tell her, not yet. There would be time when they were back at school after she’d gotten to know Draco.

“Oh, I’m so happy you felt like you could tell me.”

Harry patted her back. “I’m glad you don’t mind.”

Hermione jerked away. “Did you really think I would?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like we ever talked about it.”

“Well, I'm fine with it, and Ron will be, too. You’re going to tell him, right’”

“Yeah, later tonight.” That would probably go better than Harry being friends with Draco.

Hermione nodded. “We should probably go before Molly comes looking for us. Tibby will take care of our luggage?”

Harry nodded. He wanted to tease her about the house elf thing, but his stomach felt like lead at the thought of telling Ron he was gay.

They used the fireplace to go to the Burrow, stumbling into the kitchen. Ron was at the table, eating a sandwich and reading the newspaper. He looked at Harry when he heard them arrive, his eyes narrow. “When were you going to tell me you’re going out with Malfoy?”

 

****

 

Draco stared at Pip, unsure what to do. “Don’t cry,” he begged, his hands hovering over Pip’s head.

Pip sobbed louder. “Ma-Master Draco is ab-abandoning Pip! Is lea-leaving Pip behind!”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Draco protested. “I’ll come back. You know that.” It wasn’t the first time Pip had to watch Draco leave for school, and Draco didn’t understand what was different this year.

“Master Dra-Draco said he never leave Pip!”

Oh. Draco _had_ said that, but it had been during the war. Pip was a young elf, and his mother had been killed by one of the Death Eaters who’d lived in the Manor with the Dark Lord. Pip had been inconsolable and scared, and Draco had been afraid for him. He'd promised Pip he wouldn’t leave him behind should he manage to get away, although he hadn’t had a lot of faith he’d ever do that,

“I know I said that but you’ll be safe here,” Draco tried, hoping it would work.

It made Pip sob louder. He dried his eyes with one of his ears, but since he was still crying, it wasn’t very useful.

“What can I do to make you stop crying?” Draco asked. He felt useless, and he hated it. It reminded him of the war, when nothing he could have done would have saved him and his family.

Pip peered at him over the ear he was still using to dry his eyes. “Pip wants to go with Master Draco.”

Draco opened his mouth to say it wasn’t possible. Pip’s lower lip wobbled. Draco snapped his mouth shut.

He sighed. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll ask Professor McGonagall.”

Pip nodded, his ears flopping around his face. “Thank you, Master Draco. Pip will be the best elf. Pip will be good. Pip will obey Master Draco.”

Draco patted Pip’s head. “I know you will. I promise you’ll be able to come with me if the headmistress agrees.”

“Pip is going to pack Master Draco’s things.”

At least he’d stopped crying. Draco hoped Professor McGonagall would agree because he didn’t want to disappoint Pip, but he knew she’d probably just think he wanted more privileges or something. Still, he wrote her a letter explaining who Pip was and what had happened to him. Once that was done, he went to look for his mother. He only had a few days before he needed to leave for Hogwarts, and he needed to talk to her. He wanted to reassure her, among other things.

He found her in the garden, tending to the roses.

“Draco’,” she said when she noticed him. “Are you ready to go back to school?”

Draco really wasn’t, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“Pip is packing your things?”

“He is. I'm going to have to take him with me if Professor McGonagall agrees. He isn’t taking my departure very well.”

“It was to be expected. Let me know what the headmistress decides. I’ll deal with him if he has to stay.”

Draco nodded.

“What’s on your mind?” his mother asked.

“I was just wondering why you want me to go back.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Not the easiest, by far, but the right one. You need to finish your education, and the Wizengamot declared you innocent. You deserve to go back as much as everyone else.”

Draco wished he believed that. “You know no one will want me there.”

Her eyes glinted when she answered, “I know of at least one person who wants you there. I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Harry will keep you safe.”

Draco didn't protest. He knew this was what she’d talked about that day with Harry. It had to be.,

“I’ll make you proud,” he declared.

“You already make me proud.”

Draco had trouble believing that. “I’ll study hard and finish the year with good grades. Then we’ll be able to start looking for a suitable wife for me unless you want to start now. I trust you to choose only the best.”

Draco’s mother frowned. She put down the scissors she’d been using to cut the roses and turned to face him. “You want to get married?”

 _No._ “Of course. I’ll need an heir.”

“That’s not what I asked, Draco. I don’t want to know what you think you have to do. I want to know what you _want_ to do. Forget about heirs and the Malfoy name. Tell me what Draco wants.”

Draco gaped. He’d been brought up knowing exactly what his future held—good grades in school. Taking over the family business or a job at the Ministry, marrying a witch his parents had chosen, having at least one male child to carry on the Malfoy name. He’d thought about what he would have one if he’d been free, of course, but why did his mother want to know? “Mother—”

“Draco. You have another chance. You’re one of the lucky ones, no matter how you feel about it. You survived the war, and you’re free. Don’t waste your second chance by doing something you think you need to do.”

“But Mother, this is what I want to do.” With his father gone, Draco had to take care of his mother, of the Malfoy name.

His mother stared at him. “Bullshit.”

Draco blinked. Head his mother really said that? “I’m sorry?”

“I love your father, Draco. He may not be who I would have chosen for myself, but I learned to love him over the years. I didn’t share his enthusiasm for the Dark Lord, and I was opposed to the decisions he made over the past few years, but he’s still my husband. I can’t change that—I _won’t_ change that. It doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage of the situation he put us in. If he’s ever freed from Azkaban, it won’t be anytime soon. I’m the head of the family now, and I’ll make the important decisions.”

Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d known his mother was strong—she wouldn’t have gone against the Dark Lord’s will and survived the war if she hadn’t been—but he’d never thought she’d disobey his father’s will.

She was right, though, and a sliver of hope grew in Draco’s heart. His father would be in Azkaban for decades. He didn't rule Draco’s life anymore, and if his mother said he could do what he wanted…

“I’m gay,” he blurted out.

He snapped his mouth shut, his eyes wide and he stared at his mother. She looked completely calm, but Draco didn’t expect anything else from her.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have what? Told me? Why not?”

“I know it makes things more complicated than they already are.”

“It does, but it’s not a bad thing.” She reached for him in a gesture she hadn’t done since he was a child, cupping his cheek. He was taller than her now, but it still felt like he had to look up at her. “The only thing I want is for you to be happy. It doesn’t matter if it’s with a witch or a wizard, a Pureblood or a Half-blood, or even a Muggle.”

Draco was pretty sure he’d have to pick his jaw up off the ground when they were done talking. A Muggle? Really?

“But the Malfoy name,” he tried.

Her gaze softened. “It doesn’t mean much right now, and in the future, it will mean what we do of it, what we rebuild it to be. We can’t stay stuck in the past, Draco. It won’t do us any good. And if once you and I manage to restore the family name, you and your husband decide you want a child, then we’ll find a way. You could adopt. There are a lot of children in orphanages right now.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

She rose on her tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Then don’t say anything. Live your life, be happy. That’s all I want from you.”


	13. King's Cross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally headed to Hogwarts! Took me long enough lol

“Are you sure you have everything?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione, but he checked under his bed anyway. The only thing left there was dust. “Nothing,” he said.

“I’ll go check on Ron. You should shrink your trunk. We’ll be leaving soon.”

She disappeared, and Harry obeyed. He didn't want to miss the train, and he knew the crowd was going to be a problem. The only time he’d been left alone this summer when he was out was when Draco had been with him, and while he’d be at the station today, Harry couldn’t count on him to keep people away. It wouldn’t be fair. Draco would have enough trouble as it was.

When Harry got to the entrance, Hermione was scolding Ron while trying to get Crookshanks into his cage. Harry had barely seen the cat over the summer. He’d probably been too busy catching mice to keep Harry company. He wasn’t happy about the carrier, and while Hermione won the battle—without magic because she didn't like to use it on her cat—it wasn’t unscathed. When the cat was secured, there was a long scratch down her arm, and she was flushed and sweaty.

Ron had taken advantage of the distraction to leave, and Hermione huffed when she noticed. “We’ll be late!” she yelled at the ceiling. “Then you’ll have to borrow another flying car to get to school!” She rolled her eyes at Harry. “Honestly, I don’t know what the two of you would do without me.”

“Me neither.”

“At least you admit it. You’re ready?”

“Yep.” The only thing left was talking to Ron, but that would have to wait until they were on the train. Maybe Ron wouldn’t murder Harry if there were witnesses.

He’d managed to convince Ron he wasn’t dating Draco—no matter how much he wanted to. It had been relatively easy. Ron couldn’t understand why anyone would want to date Draco Malfoy, and Harry hadn't been about to explain. They'd laughed over the Daily Prophet’s article, and Harry had found the courage to tell him he was gay.

Ron hadn’t been fazed by the revelation. Harry had never realized it, but apparently, Charlie was pansexual. Ron thought his brother would eventually end up with a dragon since he was so obsessed with them, and he’d received a slap on the back of the head from Molly for that comment.

Harry hadn’t had the guts to tell Ron he was friends with Draco, though. He was going to have to, and it scared him. He wanted Draco to sit with them on the train, and that wouldn’t happen without Ron’s approval or at least acceptance. Harry hoped being friends with Draco wouldn’t mean losing Ron. He also hoped Ron and Draco would behave like adults and keep insults and punches to themselves.

“We’re leaving!” Hermione yelled at the ceiling. She grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him outside. He almost fell down the steps at the pop of apparition next to him, but it was only Tibby, who waved at him while pressing what looked like a towel to her teary eyes. She stepped aside just in time when Ron shot out the door with his shrunken trunk in his hand and only one shoe on—the other was in his hand—his eyes wide as he looked around. “You’re still here,” he said.

“Yes, Ronald,” Hermione snapped, sounding a bit like Molly. “Now put that shoe on and let’s go. You know the station is going to be a zoo.”

Harry crouched next to Tibby while Ron sat on the top step and put his shoe on. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? You could go back to the manor.”

Tibby narrowed her eyes. “Tibby is staying home, Master Harry.”

“Or you could come to Hogwarts.” Harry didn’t exactly have the authority to suggest that, but considering Kreacher already worked there, he didn't think Professor McGonagall would mind.

“Tibby needs to close the house, Master Harry.”

“Then you’ll come to Hogwarts?”

She nodded, her ears flopping.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled, and Harry knew it was time. He smiled at Tibby and rose to his feet. Hermione was already holding Ron’s hand, and she held out her free one. Harry took it and gave Tibby and Grimmauld Place one last glance before they were gone.

As Harry expected, King’s Cross was a mess. At least on the human side, no one crowded him, but as soon as he stepped onto Platform 9 ¾, things changed.

It was almost as if everyone stopped whatever they were doing to stare. The staring lasted long enough for Harry to start feeling uncomfortable, and he could have kissed Hermione when she took his wrist and dragged him toward the train.

The problem was that the move seemed to wake everyone up. They stopped staring, but it was only to start moving toward Harry, screaming his name and waving quills and bits of paper for him to sign. A woman—she _had_ to be a parent—threw herself at Harry, holding out a pen while pulling down the collar of her shirt. Harry blushed and ignored her as well as Ron’s snickers. Hermione pushed through the crowd, brandishing her wand and scowling at anyone who came too close.

Harry wasn’t surprised to see people asking her and Ron to sign stuff, too. They’d been there with him the entire time during the war, and everyone knew it. Ron seemed to find it hilarious, but Hermione clearly didn’t.

She pushed Harry into the train and turned to get Ron. He was still a few feet away, a girl Harry thought was a sixth year Ravenclaw wrapped around him, giggling as he signed something Harry thought was a picture he’d seen on the Daily Prophet.

Hermione glared and raised her wand. Harry was worried for a second, but she limited herself to a stinging hex. Ron yelped and pushed the Ravenclaw away, hurrying to the train. His cheeks were red—even more so than they’d been since he came back from Australia—and he didn't look at Hermione as he passed by her.

The students already on the train pressed against the compartments’ windows. If this was how the year at Hogwarts was going to go, maybe Harry should have stayed home. He wasn’t going to be able to focus or do anything else if people were going to stare at him constantly.

By the time they found an empty compartment, Harry was already exhausted, never mind that he still had to find Draco and to tell Ron about him.

“That’s crazy, huh?” Ron asked, looking out the window. Throngs of people were there, staring, and Harry had had enough. He waved at the curtains, closing them, and flopped onto the bench. He handed Hermione his trunk and she unshrank it, taking out his new Hogwarts uniform before closing it and hovering it above them heads into the dedicated space.

“Do you think it will be like that all year?” Harry asked no one in particular.

“They’ll get used to seeing you around the school again,” Hermione answered. She sat and took a book out of her purse.  “They have for six years after all.”

“Yeah, but he’d vanquished you-know-who only once,” Ron pointed out.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s dead, Ron. You can say his name.”

“Think about how jealous Malfoy is going to be,” Ron crowed, ignoring her.

“About Malfoy,” Harry started, figuring that since Ron had been the one to bring Draco up, he wouldn’t mind.

He was wrong.

Ron grimaced. “Are you sure you’re not dating him?”

“I’m not, but I _am_ his friend, and he’s going to sit with us.”

Ron blinked. “What?”

“Draco’s my friend, and he’s probably going to have trouble with the other students. Harry didn't fool himself into thinking otherwise. Draco had changed, but only Harry had seen it. Draco wasn’t going to let anyone else see the real him, especially not today.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Please, Ron. I know you don’t like him.” Ron snorted, but Harry ignored him. “And he doesn’t like you, but he promised he’d try to get along with you, and I’d like you to do the same.”

Ron’s shoulders slumped. “He’s not going away, is he?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I think you’re bloody crazy, but if it’s so important to you, then okay. I’ll try, but if he calls me weasel or insults my family, I’ll kick his ass.”

Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

 

****

 

“This place is a mess,” Blaise complained.

“Did you expect anything else?”

Draco hadn’t. September first was always a mess. Students taking the train, parents not wanting them to go. This year was especially bad. Draco supposed parents weren’t eager to let their children out of their sight after what had happened in May. Draco’s mother had wanted to come to King’s Cross to see him off, but Draco had convinced her to stay home. He could imagine all too well what would happen if he left his mother alone at the station, and he didn't want her to get hurt.

“I supposed not. When are we meeting your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yet. So? When are we meeting him?”

Draco knew insisting wouldn’t change anything. “As soon as we find him.” They’d have to move away from the station wall they were lurking against to do that, though. Pip—who was coming with them to Hogwarts thanks to Professor McGonagall—had already apparated at the school with Draco and Blaise’s trunks, but Draco and Blaise had to take the train. Draco wondered how many people would try to hex him by the time they made it to school.

Blaise patted his shoulder. “We might as well go. You know it’s not going to get any better, so it’s either brave the crowd or miss the train.”

Draco nodded. “At least Harry was somewhere on the train. He’d probably come looking for Draco sooner or later so the number of hexes would stay small. Draco hoped so anyway.

He pushed away from the wall. “Let’s go.” He let what Harry called the Malfoy mask fall on his face, raising his chin high and looking straight ahead as he and Blaise walked.

He knew the exact moment someone noticed them. The level of noise lowered for a few seconds, then rose again. He could hear various insults—Death Eater, scum—none of them original or clever.

Draco was used to being hated, even though it had never been so in his face. People used to be scared of him, or of his father. Now they despised both of them.

The crowd opened in front of them as if the people didn’t want to touch him, as if he might be contagious. He kept his gaze on the train, ignoring Blaise’s chatter about what he’d done that summer. Since He’d spent a lot of time annoying Draco, Draco already knew most of it.

Draco sighed when they finally got on the train—and they were in one piece. From what he could see, the compartments were already mostly full, but he knew Harry and his friends would have locked themselves in an isolated, probably toward the end of the train. He gestured that way, and Blaise nodded. They walked along the train, ignoring the snickers, whispers, and comments.

Draco ignored the wall of flesh he walked into, though.

The guy was big and as mean-looking as some of the Death Eaters Draco had known. He was a Gryffindor, and he looked pissed. Draco ignored the instinct to lash out and pressed himself against the wall to let the Gryffindor pass. No matter how much he wanted to hex the guy, he couldn’t risk it.

But the Gryffindor didn’t want to pass. He pushed Draco, who stumbled and fell. He hit his head, pain exploding in his skull. He scrambled for his wand, but he was too late. The Gryffindor pulled his leg back to kick Draco.

Then someone asked, “What are you doing, Garrett?” and the Gryffindor froze.

Draco blinked, pain still radiating from the back of his head. Was the tall man hovering over him Harry?

He wasn’t.

It was Longbottom.

“Neville,” Garrett said.

Longbottom rolled his eyes. “That’s my name. What are you doing?”

“Teaching the Death Eater a lesson.”

Blaise helped Draco get up, and they tried to leave. They could thank Longbottom later.

He grabbed Draco’s arm as he passed next to him, though, stopping him even though he never looked away from Garrett.

“Leave Malfoy alone, Garrett. You’re not the Wizengamot.”

“But—”

“No. Harry is right. We can’t continue fighting. Now go back to your compartment.”

Longbottom stared at Garrett until he turned around and left, grumbling under his breath.

“Do you mind?” Draco asked, pointedly looking at Longbottom’s hand on his arm.

Longbottom let go. “Malfoy. I assume you’re looking for Harry?”

Of course Longbottom knew. That article on the Daily Prophet had been the bane of Draco’s existence since it had been published.

“Why, Longbottom,” Blaise drawled. “I didn't know you could read Draco’s mind.” He sidled closer to Longbottom’s and batted his lashes at him. “Maybe you could tell me how you do it.”

Draco grimaced at Blaise’s terrible attempt at flirting. He’d always been a horrible flirter, but he was pretty enough that it didn’t matter. Longbottom looked bemused by Blaise’s sudden interest and turned toward him. “I read the Daily Prophet.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Draco was going to have to Obliviate himself.

“I supposed.” Blaise looked at the small crowd gathering around them. “Can you take us to Potter? And more importantly, will you be staying until we reach Hogwarts?”

“Sure.”

“To which one?”

“Uh, both, I guess.”

Longbottom turned, and Blaise slid his arm under his, locking them together. It had to be awkward considering how narrow the train was, but Blaise didn’t seem to care. He was chatting, and Draco wondered what he’d done to have his life suddenly full of Gryffindor.

Blaise finally had to let go of Longbottom’s arm when they reached a particularly crowded spot. People still looked at them, but the train was leaving the station, so a lot of students were at the windows waving instead of focusing on them.

“What are you doing?” Draco hissed at Blaise.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Making a fool of yourself?”

Blaise tsked. “You have your Gryffindor. Why can’t I have mine?”

“I _don’t_ have a Gryffindor.”

“Of course not. I supposed Potter is considered something more now.”

“Longbottom, Blaise?” Draco asked in the attempt to distract him.

“Neville is very sweet and a war hero.”

“ _Neville?_ ”

“He asked me to use his name.”

“Merlin.”

Blaise eyed Longbottom’s ass appreciatively. “I know. I bet he’s hot under those baggy clothes. Who would have thought?”

“Blaise.”

“Draco. Shut up.”

“Why don’t you go talk to _Neville_?”

Blaise grinned. “I will.”

Draco was glad when Longbottom stopped in front of a closed compartment and knocked. The curtain slid aside, then the door opened, revealing a smiling Granger. She was tanned and looked relaxed, and Draco remembered Harry had told him she’d been to Australia.

Weasley clearly had gone with her because his skin was almost Gryffindor red. Didn’t he know a sun-blocking spell? Draco glared at him for a few seconds before Harry stepped forward.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He’d never felt so awkward in his life.

He and Harry had always been in the muggle world with Teddy. They’d also been alone every time they’d met, except for the baby, but he didn't count. Now they were with their friends, and Draco didn’t know how to behave. He didn't know what Harry had told his friends or what he expected from him.

Draco hated who he’d become sometimes, or rather, who he’d let himself become. He’d always been needy for attention and spoiled. He’d been the center of his parents’ world all his life. He’d thought he’d become the center of Harry’s world the first time they met.

He’d been wrong.

But that had changed, hadn’t it? Draco had finally become friends with Harry. Harry liked him.

“Hey,” Harry said, smiling at Draco.

Draco nodded. “Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and they both ignored Weasley’s retching sounds. “You don’t have to act with me, Draco. Come on. Let’s sit.”

Draco was glad Blaise took the spot on his free side. He was still talking to Longbottom—about what Draco had no idea—and he looked like he belonged in the compartment full of Gryffindors. Draco couldn’t bring himself to talk, but he knew Harry didn't expect him to. He knocked their shoulders together and smiled at Draco before turning to Weasley. They started talking about one of Weasley’s brothers, and Draco let the conversation lull him.

He couldn’t wait to be at Hogwarts.


	14. Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's first night back at Hogwarts isn't as smooth as he'd wanted it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to everyone reading, commenting, and leaving Kudos :)

Harry stared at Draco from his side of the Great Hall. He didn’t even care that he was being obvious about it, to the point where even Draco had noticed and had rolled his eyes at him.

Harry hated that Draco had to sit at the far end of the Slytherin table, alone with Blaise. All the other Slytherin, including Pansy Parkinson, were ignoring them. Harry hadn’t expected it, and he wanted to tell them to stop being idiots, that not talking to Draco wasn’t going to help them. He wasn’t too sure of that, though. Draco had spent the entire trip on the train with him and the others, and it had seemed almost normal, apart from the fact that Draco hadn’t insulted or punched him. But things had been clearly different as soon as they’d stepped off the train.

Everyone had given Draco a wide berth as if they were afraid of him. Harry had heard several insults directed at him, but Draco had stopped him before he could do anything about it. He’d looked pissed, although Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of the insults or because Harry had tried to intervene. He hadn’t asked.

Harry was glad Draco wasn’t completely alone. He didn’t know Blaise, but he seemed like a nice enough bloke. He’d been especially friendly with Neville while they were on the train.

“It’s like sixth year all over again,” Ginny said. She moved her head in Harry’s sight, and he had to look away from Draco.

“What’s like sixth year?” he asked.

“You. The staring.” She twisted in her seat and looked at Draco. “Although he looks better. Less like a git. I guess I do see the appeal now that he doesn’t look so haughty and disgusted with all of us lesser witches and wizards. He’s hot.”

Ron sputtered, bits of sausages and potatoes flying everywhere. Hermione, who was sitting in front of him, just had enough time to cast a shielding spell so the food wouldn’t end up on her. “Ron!”

Ron pointed his fork at Ginny. “She said Malfoy was hot!”

“She’s right.”

Ron gaped, and Harry could have done without seeing the food in his mouth. “Hermione!”

“What?”

“You’re my girlfriend!”

“And I have eyes. I still used them, you know.”

“But—but it’s _Malfoy_.”

“I don’t have to like his personality to find him hot. Besides, Harry said he’s not as bad as he was before the war.”

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione turned to look at Harry.

“What?” he asked.

“He’s really not an asshole anymore?” Ginny asked. “I’m not sure I can believe that.”

“But Harry wouldn’t be with him if he was like before, right?” Ron asked, and Merlin, Harry had _told_ him he wasn’t with Draco.

“We’re not together,” he said again.

Ron shook his head. “You already told me that, but Harry, are you sure?”

“You do stare at him quite a bit,” Hermione pointed out, and why was everyone so interested in that all of a sudden?

“I’ve always stared at him.” Harry realized how wrong that sounded. “You know, to make sure he wasn’t up to anything.”

“He’s not, not right now. You were the one who told us that.”

“Not anymore.”

“So you don’t have a good reason to stare. Unless you also think he’s hot?”

Harry _did_ think Draco was hot, but there was no way he was admitting that. Ron would really believe Harry was in love with Draco—which wouldn’t be so far from the truth—and Harry would never hear the end of it.

“We’re friends,” he said, hoping his friends would believe him. “And as his friend, I don’t like seeing him treated like he is.”

Hermione sighed. “Not everyone got to know him over the summer. Give people time to see he’s different. They’ll stop ignoring him.”

Harry was glad when the food in his plate disappeared to leave the place to dessert. He took a slice of treacle tart, happy to see Ron focus on his ice cream. He couldn’t help but wonder if he really was that obvious about his feelings for Draco. If even Ron seemed to have realized it, then Harry had no hope to keep it from Draco. He could only hope Ron had been joking.

Professor McGonagall got up, and the room fell silent almost instantly.

“Welcome back,” she said, looking at the students. Her gaze stopped on Harry, and he smiled at her. It couldn’t be easy to fill Dumbledore’s shoes.

“All of you here, and I mean _all_ of you, received a letter. A letter I personally made sure was sent out in some cases. That means there were no mistakes. Everyone in this room has the right to be here, and I won’t tolerate any kind of bullying, be it physical or emotional. The war is over. We all lost someone, and those wounds haven’t healed yet. That will not happen if you let hate fester. I already know not all of you will obey. And I will punish transgressors accordingly. The punishments will go from detention to expulsion if I have to.”

There were a few gasps in the room, and people started whispering again. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention again. Harry wasn’t surprised by what she’d said, not after Draco had told him about the note that had come with his Hogwarts letter.

“Now that I explained this, please welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Garrick McLaggen.”

Harry hoped the new teacher wasn’t related to Cormac McLaggen. The bloke might be a Gryffindor, but that didn't make him less of an idiot.

There was some applause as a tall man with blond curls waved.

“And since I am now headmistress,” Professor McGonagall continued, “Please welcome your new Transfiguration teacher, Fiona Slinkhard.”

A witch with long brown hair held her hand up. Harry squirmed in his seat. He was exhausted, and he wanted to go to bed.

“One last thing,” the headmistress said. “As most of you have realized, this year will be different. Some parts of the castle are still being rebuilt, but more than that, this is the only year Hogwarts will have an eight year. The students who weren’t able to finish their seventh year because of the war will have their own dormitory and their own timetable. I ask those students to please stay in the Great Hall. I’ll personally walk you to your new dormitories. As for the other students, off you go.”

Harry’s heart sank. He wanted to go to bed, dammit.

“How long before she has to expel someone, do you think?” Ron asked.

“Two weeks, “Neville suggested.

“I say one,” Blaise drawled.

Harry looked up., smiling at Draco, and scooted to the side so he could sit beside him. Draco smiled back and settled next to Harry, taking a sip from his goblet. Harry found how comfortable they were together funny. If Draco had drunk from his goblet even only a few months before, Harry would probably have hexed him without thinking about it twice.

The Great Hall slowly emptied around them. Harry could feel the stares on him, hear the whispers, but he was too tired to get angry.

He tilted sideways and pressed his head against Draco’s shoulder. Draco made a soft sound and patted Harry’s hand without looking away from Blaise and Neville. Blaise was almost in Neville’s lap, and Neville looked both comfortable and awkward.

“I’m happy to see all of you,” Professor McGonagall said as she stopped by the table. Harry noticed her gaze linger on him and he straightened, already missing Draco’s warmth as she continued, “I’m surprised to see Mister Malfoy and Mister Zabini sitting here, but it’s a good thing. A step forward. Now, if you’re ready to follow me.”

Several students rose from the other tables. Harry smiled at some of them, the ones who’d been in the DA. The headmistress led them through the school, and Harry followed without paying too much attention.

“You will live in the Turris Medium,” she told them. “There’s a common room, of course, and you’ll have to share double rooms. I leave you the choice of whom you’ll share it with as long as that person is the same sex as you.”

She finally stopped in front of an empty portrait. She rolled her eyes at it and cleared her throat. “Timothy?”

A wizard with a mustache and very little hair peeked from the side of the frame. “Headmistress.”

“Carpe Diem.”

Timothy sighed, and his frame swung to the side. When Harry entered, he was glad to see the common room was neutrally colored.  There were no greens, reds, yellows, or blues. The couches were brown, the pillows on it purple. The rest of the room repeated those accents, making it warm and cozy.

“The girls’ dormitory is on the left,” the headmistress said. “I’ll see all of you tomorrow. Good night.”

Harry stepped toward the boys’ dorms as soon as she was gone. He chose the last room, knowing he’d share with Ron without having to ask. Blaise and Draco were next door, something that made Harry’s stomach churn in an almost pleasant was. Draco nodded at him.

“Well, Harry. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

****

 

Draco closed the door behind himself and looked at what would be his bedroom for the next ten months. Blaise was already digging in his trunk. Throwing bathroom supplies and clothes onto his bed. Draco knew he’d have at least half an hour of peace, so he waited until Blaise had disappeared into the bathroom to open his trunk. He got ready for bed, taking his time, sneaking into the bathroom once Blaise was done. When he went back into the bedroom, his dirty clothes were gone—no doubt thanks to Pip.

Blaise was still checking his reflection in the mirror, and Draco slipped into bed, finally allowing himself to relax. The school year was going to be hell, but at least he’d have their bedroom. It would probably be the only place he could let himself relax.

Blaise finally flopped onto his bed. “How’s your wooing going?”

Draco thought about ignoring him, but Blaise wouldn’t let him go to sleep until he got what he wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Blaise rolled to his side and faced Draco. He propped his head on his elbow and stared until Draco squirmed.

“What?” Draco asked.

“I was just wondering it you really believed that.”

“Believe what?”

“That you’re not in love with Potter.”

Draco sighed. He could continue denying it, but what would be the point? Draco had admitted the truth to himself, and Blaise had guessed. “Fine. I’m in love with him.”

Blaise squeaked and almost fell off his bed in his haste to sit up. “You are?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so surprised.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised by your confession, just by the fact that you finally managed to say it.”

“Can we not talk about it? I'm tired.”

“Nope. I'm not going to let that go now that you’re finally talking. When are you going to tell him?”

“Never.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the Savior and I’m me.”

“You being you doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

“I’ll be happy even without him. Besides, you know Purebloods don’t exactly take love into consideration when it comes to marriage.”

“Stop hiding behind that, Draco. Your mom wrote to mine. I know she doesn’t care.”

When had their mothers become friends? How had Draco missed that? “I’m not hiding.”

Blaise’s expression shifted, and Draco knew he was about to get the things he’d avoided thinking about thrown in his face.

“You are hiding, and I understand that. It’s easier to hide than to put yourself out there and be hurt, especially after what happened. But you know Harry loves you.”

Draco snorted. “Please.”

“You’re not blind, Draco. You know I'm telling the truth. The way he looks at you…Let’s just say I wish someone would look at me that way.”

“Someone like Longbottom?”

“Why not? I know we've never been friends, but we have that opportunity now. Neville is sweet and strong, and I _like_ him. I like him, and I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not going to hide it. You’ve been in love with Potter for years—and don’t try to deny it. Your feelings came second, especially last year, but they were there. They still are. You can decide you won’t talk to Potter if you want to, but don’t find fake reasons for it. Just admit you’re scared. You’re scared he’ll say no, and you can’t handle it.”

Draco wanted to say it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t. “I can’t, Blaise.”

Blaise’s expression softened. “And that’s all right. I just want you to be true to yourself now that you can.”

Draco nodded, and Blaise finally slipped under his blankets. “Good night.”

“Goodnight.”

 

Draco jerked up, wide awake even though the room was still dark. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and he didn't know why.

Blaise was softly snoring in his bed, and Draco looked around. There was nothing there, no one. He didn't have a reason for freaking out. He slowly laid down again, unsure if he’d be able to fall asleep.

Something—someone—moved at the periphery of Draco’s vision. He reached for his wand, but a whispered _Petrificus Totalus_ made him fall back against the mattress, frozen. He couldn’t even call out to Blaise.

The next word that came out of the attacker’s mouth was _Diffindo_. Pain bloomed on Draco’s cheek, and he knew that if Blaise didn't wake up, he was going to have many more cuts before the night was over.

He couldn’t do anything to defend himself or to attack. He couldn’t call out or take his wand. The only thing he _could_ do was feeling the pain as his attacker slashed his flesh again and again.

Draco didn't know who the attacker was. He couldn’t see him, see his face, focus his hate.

“What the fuck?”

Draco might have broken down in tears at the sound of Blaise’s voice if he hadn’t been immobilized. As it was, the only thing he could do was watch as Blaise jumped out of bed, his wand in his hand, light shining from the tip. He blasted the attacker, but the sneaky little bastard was already at the door. Blaise’s hex hit the wall, making enough noise to wake the dead. Blaise ran out the door, leaving Draco where he was, still frozen.

Pain radiated from what felt like a hundred cuts all over his body. The smell of blood, warm and coppery, made him want to throw up.

“Draco? Merlin, what happened to you?”

Harry rushed toward Draco, Weasley behind him. Harry waved him away when they reached the bed. He shot out a series of spells, illuminating the room and releasing Draco from the _Petrificus Totalus_. Draco took a deep, trembling breath, and tried to sit up, but Harry pressed him back against the mattress. “Stay still. Ron, grab me a wet cloth from the bathroom.”

Weasley left, and Harry vanished the top of Draco’s pajamas. Draco would have blushed and tried to hide himself if his chest hadn’t been covered in blood.

Weasley came back with a small bowl and put it on the nightstand. He left the room as Harry started healing Draco, muttering spells under his breath and waving his wand.

Draco wasn’t sure how long it took. He was still sore when Harry sighed and put his wand away, reaching for the bowl. He squeezed the cloth and gently passed it over Draco’s chest.

Draco’s breath hitched. Harry was touching him in a way that was new for them. He was taking care of Draco, careful of the wounds that weren’t there anymore. Sometimes, the tip of his fingers brushed against Draco’s skin, making him shiver—and not because of the pain.

“What happened?”

Draco looked up to see Weasley, Blaise, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey entering the room. Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side, pushing Harry away and waving her wand, but there was nothing left for her to do. Harry had done a good job, and when Draco looked at his chest, there were no signs of the attack left.

Draco sat up and pulled the sheet to his chest. “Someone was in the room. They petrified me and used _Diffindo_. I was lucky Blaise woke up.”

Professor McGonagall looked at Blaise. “Do you know who it was?”

Blaise shook his head. “I didn’t see the attacker’s face. I ran after him, but I lost him. Or her.”

Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall left soon after. Draco had had to insist that he was okay and could stay in his room rather than go to the infirmary, and he wanted to bury under the blankets and go to sleep, but Harry, Weasley, and Blaise were still quietly talking in a corner, making Draco feel vulnerable.

Draco expected Harry and Weasley to leave, but instead, Harry gestured at Draco to get up.

Draco blinked and obeyed. “Where are we going?”

“You’re swapping with Ron.”

“What?”

“We’re rooming together. That way I can protect you.”

“I can protect myself, Potter.”

Harry’s gaze flickered to Draco’s healed chest. “I know. Two sets of eyes are better than one, though.”

“Come on, Draco,” Blaise whined. “I want to sleep. I had to run all over the castle.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“Just go with Potter. That way I won’t have to worry about finding you murdered in your bed.”

Blaise’s words made Draco shiver. He grabbed a clean pajama shirt and put it on, pressing the fabric close to his chest.

“Let’s go to bed,” Harry said, his eyes soft as if he were still worried.

Draco didn’t have anything to say against that, so he nodded and followed Harry into what was now his room.

 


	15. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is struggling and Draco is there to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks everyone for reading. Also, I started using a dictation software (damn carpal tunnel!) and since I'm the only one editing this, I hope there aren't too many mistakes!

It was only the beginning of October, and Harry was already completely lost. He’d expected his eight year to be hard, but in the previous years, he’d always managed to follow the lessons and do his work on time and without too many problems. The year on the run at clearly made him stupider because he had no idea what Professor Slinkhard was talking about.

She was moving her wand, demonstrating something and gesturing at a mouse on her desk. Harry leaned toward Ron. “What is she doing?”

“The mouse is supposed to become a cat.”

Harry blinked. With his luck, he’d give the mouse a cat tail or transform only its head or something. Just the thought of the monster that would come out of it made him cringe.

Once the lesson was over and Harry had managed to extract his mouse from the bookshelf where it had gone to hide after he’d managed to give it cat paws and claws—catching it had been interesting and painful—Harry trudged to Potions.

He was starting to hate Slughorn. The man had stopped praising him after the fourth or fifth time he’d botched his potion, but he still looked at him with a disappointed expression every time he did it again—which was almost every time they had Potions. Harry felt like he was letting the professor down, even though he knew would never actually been good at Potions.

Everything was going well, at least in Harry’s opinion, until he got distracted. It happened at least once every time he had Potions—he looked at Draco to see how he was doing and got lost in staring.

Draco had discarded his robes and was wearing only slacks and a shirt. He hadn’t rolled the sleeves up like most of the other students had, and the fabric was damp with sweat, almost transparent. His hair was clinging to his face, and all of that reminded Harry of that first night a month before. He felt like a git because what he remembered the best was the way Draco’s chest had seemed to gleam in the soft light of the candles instead of the wounds and blood on him.

Harry’s cauldron hissed, and he barely had time to raise a shield before gray goo exploded out of it. He blinked at the cauldron, wondering what had happened. He didn’t know why his potion had exploded. He hadn’t even been doing anything!

“Mr. Potter,” Slughorn said, peering into what remained of the cauldron. “You forgot to add the salamander eyes, didn’t you?”

Harry tried to read the list of ingredients from his now gray goo covered book. “Maybe?”

Slughorn sighed and vanished the mess—cauldron and all. Harry could hear the other eight year students whisper around him, and he knew they were staring. He kept his gaze down, not wanting to see it, not wanting to see Draco disappointed in him.

“I’m not sure what happened to you,” Slughorn said. “But if you don’t try harder, you’re not going to pass your N.E.W.T. exams. You still have time to study and get better. Don’t waste it.”

Harry nodded. What could he say? Slughorn was right. The problem was that Harry _was_ trying. He studied every night, but no matter how much time he spent on his books, he couldn’t seem to be able to learn, especially not potions.

Slughorn sighed again. “What don’t you take a break? You won’t have time to remake the potion anyway.”

Harry was all for that. He packed his things and, still avoiding everyone’s gaze, left the classroom. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he needed to be in his room in an almost panicky way.

He ran all the way to the tower and tore through the common room, slamming doors shut until he finally was in his room. He threw his bag in a corner and collapsed onto his bed, pulling the blankets on top of his face. He knew he was hiding, and he didn’t care.

He’d faced Death Eaters, Voldemort. He’d been tortured. He’d thought his life would finally be normal now that the war was over, yet he was still followed around, got that, flirted with, and everything else. It was almost more pressure than having to kill Voldemort had been, and Harry hated it. He wanted peace, not the life he had now.

He should have stayed home. He could go back, although Hermione and Prof. McGonagall would be against it.

The door opened, and Harry got ready to tell Hermione to leave him alone, but when the blanket was pulled away, it was Draco who stood over him, a frown on his face.

“Are you all right?”

Harry sighed and sat up. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look like you are. Did you hurt yourself when your potion exploded?”

“I’m okay, Draco. I just need some time alone.”

“Oh. I’ll leave, then.”

That was the last thing Harry wanted. He’d expected Hermione or even Ron to come after him, but not Draco. “Stay.”

Draco froze. He looked at Harry and slowly lowered his bag. Then he took off his robes and sat on the edge of Harry’s mattress, close enough that Harry could have touched him just by reaching out.

“What happened?”

“I got distracted, forgot to add—”

“I know that. I heard what Slughorn said. I was asking about this.” He gestured at Harry, and Harry suddenly felt pathetic.

He’d been lucky. He’d survived the war, was back in school with his friends. So what if people stared at him and he wasn’t going well in school? It wasn’t the end of the world.

“I’m an idiot.”

Draco smiled. “I won’t deny that. I just want you to know you can talk to me if you need to.”

Harry sighed. “Really, I was just being an idiot. I’m behind in almost all my classes, people are still following me around. I guess I had a moment of auto commiseration. I’m okay now.”

“You got overwhelmed.”

“I guess. I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not. The war is over, but you’re reminded of it every day, and sometimes it gets to be too much.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have eyes, Potter.”

“Clearly.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I can’t help you when it comes to people staring considering I have to do with it too, but I could help you with the rest.”

“The rest?”

“Your school work. I am _not_ behind in my school work, in any class."

Harry wanted to accept, but could he? He was a registrant enough when Draco was on the other side of the room. How was he supposed to focus when he was teaching him stuff? But thing yes would mean it would spend more time with Draco. They had all their classes together and shared a room, but Harry felt they didn’t talk enough anyway. And if he did manage to focus, he’d probably learned more from Draco and from, say, Slughorn.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I have to study. You have to study. We can do it together.”

“You’ll really help me?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

“You don’t mind?”

Draco sighed. “Harry, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think I could help you. I need to study anyway.”

“When do we start?”

“Today. In fact, as soon as this conversation is over.”

“Great.” Harry started to get up, but Draco pressed a hand on his arm.

“Do you want to talk about the war?” Draco asked, his gaze low.

Harry knew how much Draco hated to even _think_ about the war, and he wasn’t sure why he’d brought it up. “Why?”

“I have a hard time believing you’re hiding in your room just because you botched a potion and people follow you around.”

Draco was right, in part. “I dealt with it this summer.”

Draco snorted. “It will take you more than a few months to get over it.”

“I know. I... Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I appreciate you suggesting it anyway, but it’s okay.”

It still hurt when Harry thought about Sirius and Remus, about Fred, but it was getting easier to focus on the good memories. He still had nightmares, just like Draco, but they would disappear over time when the memories got easier to handle.

Draco nodded. “All right.” He looked relieved, and Harry wanted to kiss him, to sink his fingers into the blond hair that framed his face.

Instead, he got up. “Which potion will we start with?”

Draco grinned. “Amortentia.”

 

****

 

“Why Amortentia?” Harry asked as they walked back to the potions classroom.

Draco knew there was another class in session, but he hoped Slughorn would allow them to use it later. In the meantime, he’d have Harry go over the potion and its ingredients. “Because it’s on the N.E.W.T. program. It might be asked during the exams. You should be able to do it by now.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m pretty sure I forgot everything I learned over the past six years during the time I was on the run.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

Harry snorted. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

Draco still couldn’t get over how self-deprecating and modest Harry could sometimes be. He’d saved the wizarding world, had killed the most powerful wizard in decades, yet he seemed to be convinced he wasn’t smart enough to graduate. Draco had had an inkling of that before, but after sharing Harry’s room for a month, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

For some reason, Harry Potter, the Savior, the Golden Boy, thought he wasn’t good enough. It baffled Draco. He had throngs of fans running after him, girls and boys asking him for an autograph, a kiss, or a date. Merlin, even some of the adults in the school fawned over him. He could get a job at the ministry tomorrow if he wanted to, yet he hadn’t, and Draco knew he wouldn’t.

He was a contradiction, and Draco loved him for that. If only he weren’t so hard to understand.

A Hufflepuff passed them in the hallway. His shoulder slammed against Draco’s, the pain distracting him from his thoughs. He jerked, raising his hand to his shoulder, but he had to turn around and grab Harry’s wrist before he could follow the guy and probably yell at him.

“Leave it,” he muttered, rubbing his arm and grimacing.

“Leave it? He hurt you!"

"I’ve had worse." He tried to avoid thinking about that night the month before as little as he could. He didn't have scars, but he still had trouble sleeping. It felt like someone would attack him every time he closed his eyes, even though Harry slept in the same room and had promised him he’d protect him—which in itself was a problem for Draco. He didn’t need Harrry to  protect him.

“Did he hurt you?” Harry asked, gently touching Draco’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

“I should have talked to him, told him to apologize.”

“You can talk to all the people hate me.”

“I can try.”

Draco snorted. “You’d have to know who they are first.”

“McGonagall still hasn’t found out who attacked you?”

Draco shook his head. He’d stopped asking after the first week. Everyone knew it had to be an eighth year student since they’d had to have known the password to get into the common room. There weren’t many of them, but it didn’t make the headmistress’ work easier. Draco hadn’t even been able to tell her if it had been a boy or girl.

“She will,” Harry said, and he sounded so sure of himself Draco almost believed it.

Almost.

“I don’t see how she could unless I’m attacked again.”

“You won’t be. I’ll make sure of it.”

“That’s nice but unrealistic. You can’t be with me all the time.”

Harry arched a brow. “I _am_ with you all the time. Well, apart from mealtimes, but you’re still in sight.”

Draco would have hated that a few years earlier. It still annoyed him sometimes, but always wanted Harry’s attention, and now he had it.

They stopped in an empty classroom in the dungeons, and Draco made Harry read and reread the potion’s procedure and its ingredients until he knew them by heart. The most important thing was to understand why it was done the way it was, but he didn’t have the time to explain that right now. Instead, he made sure Harry memorized the steps he’d need to take. He didn’t seem to have too many problems with that, so Draco knew he had trouble making potions either because he got too distracted in class, or because they were too many expectations on him.

Or maybe a mix of the two.

The noise in hallway told Draco class was over. He and Harry had a free hour after lunch, so they’d use the Potions classroom—if Slughorn authorized it—during lunch and go to the kitchens later.

Being an eight year had its perks. Draco was studying only the classes he was interested in, and that meant free hours he could use to study.

They caught Professor Slughorn as he was leaving the classroom, and Draco let Harry take the lead. Slughorn might tolerate him, but he certainly didn’t like him, and that feeling was reciprocated. Draco thought he wasn’t as good a teacher as Professor Snape had been, and that he was manipulative and vain.

A perfectly Slytherin, really.

“Professor?” Harry asked. “We were wondering if we could use the classroom during lunch? Draco has agreed to help me study Potions, and we need a place to practice.”

Professor Slughorn wrinkled his nose. “Surely you could limit yourself to studying your book.”

Draco almost snorted. Of course Slughorn one of them to study their book. It would make things so much easier for him.

“Please, Professor,” Harry insisted. “I’m really struggling this year, and I can’t afford to not pass Potions.”

Slughorn stared at Harry, and Draco could have sworn he saw Harry bat his lashes at their teacher. This time, he really did snort, and he had to hide it with a cough.

“All right. You may use the classroom during lunch time anytime you might need it. But only during lunch time, and I won’t be there to supervise it.”

Harry nodded. “Of course not, Professor. We both know you have much more important things to do.”

Professor Slughorn left, probably in a hurry to go have lunch. Harry stepped aside and gestured at Draco to walk into the classroom. Draco made went straight to his desk, dropping his bag onto it and taking his book out.

“All right, Potter. Let’s see what you’ve got. And please focus. I don’t want to blow up.”

He let Harry do his thing, curious to see what would happen. He had to intervene a few times to stop Harry from botching the potion, but apart from a few glances his way, Harry’s attention was on the cauldron and the ingredients he was mixing into it.

Draco was surprised at of the result of the potion when Harry stepped away from it. Sure, he’d helped, and the color was slightly off, but it was a more than decent attempt, and Draco had no doubt that if Harry managed to produce the potion again during the N.E.W.T. exam, he’d pass.

“Right,” he said. “Tell me what you smell.” That was the only way to be sure the potion he been done correctly.

Harry’s face jerked toward him. “What?”

Draco gestured at the cauldron and the pearly fumes that rose from it. “It’s Amortentia. You know how it works.”

Harry didn’t look convinced, but he still leaned forward. His face relaxed as he slowly closed his eyes, and he was so bloody gorgeous Draco wanted to kiss him right there and then.

“Apples, tea. Old books, something pungent.”

Draco blinked. “What?”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him. “What I smell. Your turn.”

Draco obeyed without even thinking about it. He felt his body relax as he breathed the steam in. “Treacle tart and broom polish.”

Harry blinked at him. “Really?”

Draco looked away, his cheeks heating. “Yes, so?”

“Are you in love with a Quidditch player? Maybe one who likes treacle tart?”

Merlin. Draco had just given himself away. It was impossible for Harry not to know he was talking about him, not unless he was even more stupid and clueless and Draco had thought he was. Draco couldn’t face what was coming, the rejection. He turned away, grabbing his bag and his book and almost running to the door.

“Draco? Where are you going?” Harry called out.

Draco was glad Harry had to stay back to clean up. It gave him the time to disappear, find a quiet corner where he could wrap his mind around the fact that he’d basically just told Harry Potter he was in love with him.

 

 

 

 


	16. Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Harry really is as clueless as everyone thought, and Draco is a stubborn git.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Harry and Draco don't even talk to each other in this one, but I promise, they'll make up! They're supposed to kiss in the next chapter, so keep that in mind when you want to slap both of them for being clueless and stubborn :)
> 
> Also, I'm still using a dictation program, and as much as I try to edit, sometimes I miss stuff, so I hope there aren't too many typos!

Harry stared at Draco over the top of his goblet, wishing he could close the distance between them. It had always been there, they had always eaten that separated tables, yet it had never felt so wide.

“Are you sure you’re not pining?”

Harry glared at Ron. “Of course not.”

“Why are you two fighting anyway?”

Harry let his gaze drifted Draco again. “I have no clue. I mean, we’re not fighting, exactly.”

Ron snorted. “Looks like you are to me.”

That much was true. Draco had been ignoring Harry since that day in the Potions classroom. The problem was that Harry didn’t know why. He’d gone over what he’d said what had to be hundreds of times over the past week, yet he didn’t understand what he’d done. He knew the answer had to be in that conversation—everything had been going so well, the potion had been a success, then suddenly Draco had left, and he hadn’t so much as looked at Harry since then. It made sharing a room slightly awkward, although Draco seemed to have gotten over that by getting up very early in the morning and coming back only after Harry was already asleep. It was starting to worry Harry— how could Draco get enough sleep? He looked tired, and Harry hated that it was somewhat his fault.

“He fought with Zabini the other night,” Ron said before pushing a strip of bacon into his mouth.

“Why?”

“He wanted to switch room again. He asked me, but Zabini told him to stop being an idiot and do what was right instead what was easy.”

Harry frowned. “What does it mean?”

Ron shrugged. “Beats me. But Malfoy was pissed. He yelled at Zabini to mind his own business and left.”

Harry looked at the Slytherin table. Draco and Blaise were still sitting together, away from the other students. They’d been quiet, but Harry hadn’t noticed until Ron had pointed it out. Harry had thought it had to do with what had happened in the Potions classroom. He was glad Blaise had stuck around even though they’d fought. At least Draco wasn’t completely alone.

“What happened between you two?” Ron asked. You look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

Ron waved his fork. “Come on, tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Harry didn’t particularly want to talk about it, but it wasn’t like he was having success figuring things out on his own anyway. “He came after me after potions last week and told me he’d help me. So we went to the potions classroom, and he made me brew Amortentia. I think it came out well because when he told me to smell it, I smelled apples and old books. He said he smelled treacle tart and broom polish, then he freaked out and left.”

Ron stared, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder why suddenly felt like an idiot. “What?”

“You smelled apples and old books?”

“Yeah.”

“Who are you in love with?”

Harry suddenly found his still full plate interesting. “No one.”

“Right.”

“I’m just... I’m not ready to tell anyone.”

Ron sighed and put his fork down. “I knew this day was coming since you told me you’re gay. I mean, you said you weren’t dating him, but really, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Harry stomach suddenly felt likely. “What?”

Running closer. “Harry, it’s okay. I might have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but I’m not blind, nor stupid. You’re in love with Malfoy.”

_Bloody hell._ Now Harry knew why Draco was avoiding him. He’d given himself away. He hadn’t meant to, but if Ron of all people had realized we was in love with Draco, there was no way Draco hadn’t, especially after the Amortentia thing.

He buried his face in his hands. “He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Harry groaned. “He found out I love him and now he’s avoiding me. It’s pretty obvious he hates me.”

“Merlin, I didn’t believe Hermione when she told me you can be a little clueless, she’s right.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You really need to get this on your own. I did, although it took me years. I hope you’ll be faster than me.”

Harry had no idea what Ron was talking about, but when he asked, Ron refused to answer. He knew something Harry didn’t, but when Harry went over his last conversation with Draco again, he couldn’t see it.

He hated the situation he was in where everyone seemed to know more about it than him, and he hated not being Draco’s friend anymore. He missed Draco, something he never would’ve thought could be possible.

“Are you coming to Hogsmeade?” Ron asked.

Harry grimaced. The last thing he wanted was to have to watch Ron and Hermione snogging and hold hands for the entire evening. He loved them, but not _that_ much. “No. I think I’m going to go back to common room and study.” Merlin knew we needed it.

He’d been able to brew the Amortentia without too many problems, but he’d been trying to impress Draco, and it had been easier with his help. Harry’s cauldron had exploded only once this week, but Slughorn still look like Harry had stolen his candied pineapple, and even Neville was doing better than Harry, which was saying something. Of course, that would be because Neville had his own Slytherin to help him. Harry might have been focused on Draco lately, but even he hadn’t missed how much time Neville was spending with Blaise.

Harry left Ron in the entrance hall and made his way to the common room. It was quiet, and he wasn’t surprised. Everyone probably had better things to do on a Saturday night than to stick around.

He flopped into his favorite armchair and took his Potions textbook out. He might as well reread the latest potion Slughorn had made them brew. Harry had managed to keep his cauldron intact, but the potion had smelled like something had died in it rather than the spicy smell it should have emanated. He would try to find out what he’d done wrong—apart from staring at Draco’s arse from the other side of the room.

He’d reread the same paragraph four times when someone walked into the common room. He looked up and blinked, then he blinked again. Where Neville and Blaise _holding hands_?

“Hey, Harry,” Neville said. He pulled Blaise along, and they both sat onto the couch closest to Harry. “I thought you’d be out. It’s Saturday.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Never turned and smiled at Blaise and Merlin, how had Harry never noticed that? Never noticed that Neville was looking at Blaise the way Ron looked at Hermione, the way he no doubt looked at Draco?

“We’re not going out,” Neville said

“Since when are you two...” Harry wasn’t sure how to ask, so he waved at them, hoping Neville would understand.

Blaise snorted. “We’ve been going out since the beginning of the school year, Potter.”

“Harry.”

Blaise cocked his head. “I guess I can call you that, considering everything.”

“Everything?”

“Really, Potter? You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“You’re Neville’s boyfriend.”

Blaise sighed and shook his head. “You really _are_ clueless. You know, I wouldn’t believe you defeated the Dark Lord if I hadn’t seen it myself. You’re too stupid.”

Harry bristled. He might feel like an idiot most of the time, but it didn’t mean he liked having other people pointing it out. Neville beat him to it, though.

He slapped Blaise’s chest and glared at him, but Blaise kissed the tip of his nose, and the glare disappeared.

_Gah._ There were adorable.

They made Harry miss Draco even more.

“He’s not stupid,” Neville said. “Just...clueless.”

“What are you talking about?” What was he going to have to do to get an answer? First Ron, then Neville. What was it they saw that Harry didn’t?

“Potter—”

“Harry.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Harry. You’ve been fighting with Draco, correct?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Of course I have. He ignores me, though. He leaves while I’m still asleep and comes back late. I can never find him when we’re not in class. I’m not sure what else to do.”

Blaise tapped his chin. “Mmm. Well, you’re lucky Draco is my best friend. I’m going to talk to him for you.”

 

****

 

Draco enjoying the silence. Really, he did. He should have gotten rid of Harry, of _Potter_ , much sooner. Now he had more time to study, fewer distractions, and he’d be able to give his mother the daughter-in-law and grandchildren she deserved. He could tell her Harry didn’t like him, not the way he liked Harry. Besides, it wasn’t like he never told her it was Harry was in love with.

Draco hadn’t actually asked Harry about his feelings, of course. No, he’d been hiding from him, like he was now. Instead of using the common room, he’d found an empty classroom where he’d settled for the evening. That way he wouldn’t have to tell Harry to leave him alone, to watch Harry pout, his delicious lower lip sliding forward and making Draco want to—

_No._ Potter was probably in Hogsmeade with his friends, and Draco had no business thinking about him. He looked at his Transfiguration book again and reread the chapter on the transfiguration of a live being. Well, he tried to reread the chapter. His mind kept wandering, though, no matter how hard he tried to focus.

He’d been avoiding H—Potter all week, leaving the bedroom early and going back late. As a result, he was exhausted, which was the reason he couldn’t focus. At least Pip was making sure he ate because he’d been to the Great Hall only a few times since the Amortentia disaster.

He could still see the confusion on Harry’s face when it had happened, hear him call out. But Draco had been humiliated more than enough times, and the last thing he wanted was for the boy he had feelings for to do it yet again.

The door clicked behind him and he sighed. “Blaise, I didn’t tell you where I was so you could disturb me while I’m trying to study.”

Draco waited for Blaise to answer, and when he didn’t, he turned around.

It wasn’t Blaise.

It was the Gryffindor who had pushed Draco around on the train on their way to school. Draco didn’t remember his name—Graham? Derek?—and he didn’t want to find out.

“What do you want?” he asked in as cool a voice he could manage. He had his wand with him this time. He always had it with him ever since _that_ night.

“Neville isn’t here to protect you this time,” Graham said.

“I don’t need him to protect me.”

Draco rose from his chair and faced Graham. His wand was on the desk, and he pressed a hand on top of it. Graham stepped closer. He wasn’t holding his wand, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t attack.

“And now Harry to save your lily-white arse,” Derek continued.

Draco arched a brow. “ You sure seem to be quite interested in my arse. I’m sorry, but you’re not my type. I like them more...intelligent.”

Gavin punched Draco.

Pain exploded in Draco’s nose, but he ignored it, throwing itself at the Gryffindor arsehole. He’d fought with Harry often enough in the past to know what to do.

He knocked Gavin on his arse and managed to punch him twice right in that smug mouth of his before Gavin hit him in the ribs. The air whooshed out of Draco’s lungs, and Graham punched him again, rolling them so Draco was under him. Draco jerked up and slammed his head against Derek’s nose. Derek howled in pain as blood spurted, but before Draco could hit him again, Garrett was pulled off him.

Of course Blaise intervened when Draco didn’t need him to.

He dragged Garrett away and whipped his wand out, sticking it under Garrett’s nose. “I should hex your prick off.”

Gavin’s eyes went wide, and he reached for his jeans, but Blaise moved his wand, and Gavin yelped, a red welt forming on his cheek.

“Leave,” Blaise snapped. “And if I ever see you around Draco again, I’ll be the last of your problems. I don’t think Harry Potter would be happy to know you attacked one of his best friends.”

Derek didn’t wait to be told again. He scampered away, his hand pressed against his nose. Blaise waited until he was gone to close the door and lock it. Then he sighed and walked toward Draco, offering him a hand to get up.

“Honestly, Draco. Why are you hiding out in dark corners? No wonder you keep getting attacked.”

“I’m not hiding, and this isn’t a dark corner. It’s a well-illuminated classroom, and I was studying.”

Blaise what his hand in front of Draco’s nose. “Episkey.”

Draco grunted and touched his face. His nose wasn’t broken anymore, thanks to Mr. I-stick-my-nose-where-it-doesn’t-belong. The blood was still there, but Blaise made quick work of it as he hummed what Draco thought was the Weird Sisters’ latest hit.

“You should study in the common room, or in the library,” Blaise said, putting his wand away. “Or better yet, you shouldn’t study, considering it’s Saturday night and as eight years we are allowed to go to Hogsmeade.”

“There’s too much noise in the common room.”

“Not really. It’s empty right now, except for Potter, of course.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “I hate you.” Blaise knew exactly what he was doing by mentioning Harry, and he was doing it on purpose.

The git.

“No, you don’t. You love me, although not as much as Neville does.”

“Longbottom doesn’t love you. You two have been together for only a few weeks.”

“More than enough time to fall in love with me.”

Draco was still bemused by that. He wasn’t surprised at Blaise being with a man—he wasn’t new to fucking anything with legs, including boys—but rather that he was with Longbottom and that they’d been together since the beginning of the school year. Blaise’s trysts didn’t usually last much longer than the time it took him to fuck and pull his trousers up. Draco supposed it had to do with Longbottom’s war hero status, but he wasn’t blind. Sometimes, Blaise looked at Longbottom with something akin to affection in his eyes.

_Ugh._

Draco had to stop thinking about love. He hated love and the way it made him feel.

“Potter’s looking for you,” Blaise said, a smirk on his perfectly hateful face.

“Did you tell him to fuck off?”

“Not exactly. I told him he’s an idiot and that I would talk to you.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, you talked to me. Now _you_ can fuck off.”

Blaise tsked and hopped onto a desk. That meant he wouldn’t leave anytime soon, and since he’d sat onto the desk Draco had been using, neither would Draco.

His homework was under Blaise’s fat ass.

“I don’t understand you,” Blaise said. He was examining his nails as if he didn’t care, but Draco knew better. Blaise cared more than anyone could think. He just didn’t let it show.

He sighed and sat in his chair. “Why not?”

Blaise looked up. “You’re in love with a great guy. As much as it pains me to admit this, Potter really is nice. And if that wasn’t enough, he’s rich, powerful, influential, and famous. He’s the perfect man for you, yet you’ve been avoiding him for the past week.”

“You know why.”

Blaise patted Draco’s shoulder. “You’re putting too much faith in him, you know. He clearly isn’t that smart because he hasn’t figured the Amortentia thing out yet.”

Since Draco knew Harry wasn’t stupid, he was slightly surprised. But then, Harry was clueless. He hadn’t noticed show Cho Chang had had a thing for him back in fourth year, not until it was too late. He also hadn’t noticed that girl Weasley had had a crush on him since she started school six years earlier.

“You should talk to him,” Blaise went on. “He doesn’t have a clue why you’re avoiding him, and he looks like you killed this puppy, which isn’t good for your reputation. Tell him you love him, Draco. That way you’ll get together and be disgustingly in love and make all of us want to throw up.”

“I can’t.”

“Still scared he’ll reject you? Clearly, he’s not the only clueless one in your relationship.”

“My mother—”

“Is perfectly fine with it, or she’s going to be when you finally tell her. It’s not like she doesn’t already suspect anyway. Seriously, Draco. Why are you so afraid of being happy?”

Draco didn’t have an answer to that. He did know something, though.

He couldn’t risk it.


	17. Not-so-secret Secrets Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco finally talk, and, uh, more. Not too much more, though!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can hear all of you scream FINALLY! lol   
> Anyway, this fic was supposed to be only 20000 words long, yet we've reached more than twice for now, and it's not even finished. I have another three chapters plotted, and maybe an epilogue. I kind of forgot to plot the revelation of who's behind the attack lol but I won't forget!
> 
> I'm going to try to finish this before I go on vacation the first week of August, but I'm not promising anything. It really depends on how long the next few chapters are and if I decide to write an epilogue. But we're nearly there, and I can't believe how many people are reading, commenting, and leaving Kudos! Thanks :)

Harry reread the potion recipe, then looked inside his cauldron. The book said the potion should have been turquoise blue and emanating a light silver vapor at that point. Instead, it was orange and smelled of sugar, which Harry supposed was better than exploding and smelling like death. Still, it wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

What had he done wrong? He’d counted the seven times he’d needed to steer correctly—both clockwise and anticlockwise. He’d made sure to add the ingredients in the right order. The potion had turned orange like the book had said it would, and he’d been over the moon. He’d steered and had lowered the heat, then he’d added the hellebore.

And nothing had happened.

“All right, class,” Slughorn announced. “Time is up. Bottle the potion and bring it here.”

Harry sighed and obeyed. Things hadn’t gone as badly as the previous weeks, but he still hadn’t managed to successfully brew anything, which meant he was still failing Potions.

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t brew. Maybe he should just stop taking Potions. It would mean he couldn’t be an Auror, but then he’d already decided that wasn’t the right path for him. Being a teacher, at least the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, probably wouldn’t be possible either, but maybe he could teach something else. And teaching wasn’t the only thing he could do. Besides, dumping Potions would mean he could focus on the rest of his classes.

He’d had the hardest time studying since Draco had stopped talking to him, so he was struggling with almost everything, and not having to study Potions would help with that.

His decision made, Harry cleared up his desk and cleaned his cauldron after bottling some of the potion. He took his time, telling Ron and Hermione to go ahead without him because he needed to talk to Slughorn. He noticed Draco pass by him, but he didn’t try to stop him, not in that moment. He’d try again later.

He waited until everyone had left to go up to Slughorn’s desk. The professor looked up at him and smiled, wrinkling his nose only a bit of the orange potion.

“Not enough time, Harry?”

Harry frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Slughorn gestured at the potion. “It looks like you didn’t have time to add the last of the powdered porcupine quills and the hellebore.”

Oh. So that was what Harry had done wrong. He’d added the hellebore, but not all the porcupine quills. Well, at least it hadn’t exploded. “I guess.”

“Well, it’s better than the other potions you brewed lately.”

“About that, Professor.”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you would allow me to drop the class.”

Slughorn frowned and leaned toward Harry. “Drop out of Potions?”

“Yes.” Harry looked at the small bottle containing his potion. “I’m having troubles with it, and it’s taking too much time for me to make sure I don’t completely botch the potion every time I brew something. I barely half the time to study for my other classes, and even like this, it’s obvious I’m not very good. I guess it’s true not everyone can learn.”

Slughorn tsked. “You wanted to be an Auror. You won’t be able to if you don’t pass your potions N.E.W.T.”

That wasn’t exactly true since Harry had already been offered a job as an Auror. He’d declined, but nothing said he couldn’t change his mind and accept. That was, if he decided he wanted to be an Auror. It was what everyone expected from him, and he’d already let down enough people when he broken up with Ginny, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to do it anyway, not if it was just to make everyone but himself happy.

“I know, sir.”

Slughorn stared at him for so long he wanted to ask him if he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. Then Slughorn looked at the potion again and sighed. “No.”

Harry blinked. “I’m sorry?” Surely no one could force him to take a class he wanted to drop?

“I want you to try until the Christmas holidays. It’s just over a month away.”

“But, Prof—”

Slughorn raised a hand. “No, Harry. I understand this year is hard on you. I do. But you’re not one to give up. You never were. If by the time the holiday starts, you still want to opt out of Potions, I’ll allow it. Until then, I expect you to work hard. Today’s potion was good. You didn’t have the time to finish it, but your grade won’t be too low. Continue to focus and study.”

Harry could tell Slughorn wouldn’t change his mind, so he nodded. “All right.” It was only a month, and Slughorn was right. He could focus that long.

Hopefully.

“Good. Now off you go.”

Harry had a free hour, although free wasn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe it. He spent most of his _free_ time studying after all. Since Slughorn wouldn’t let him drop out of Potions, Harry was going to have to write the essay on the Draught of Living Death the professor had given them. It shouldn’t be too hard since he knew what he’d done wrong when he’d brewed it.

Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and left the classroom. The common room would probably be crowded, but he could go up to his bedroom. No one would disturb him there, not even Draco—especially not Draco. He was rarely in their bedroom nowadays, to the point where Harry wondered if he even slept there. Harry wouldn’t put it past him to have found another bed, possibly on the other side of the castle, as far away from Harry as possible.

The hallway was empty, and Harry tensed. It was stupid, but he hadn’t been able to shed the vigilance he’d learned during the war. It was a good thing, considering that someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alcove. His body reacted almost on its own, his wand out of his pocket before he even realized it. He slammed his aggressor against the wall and pushed his wand against his aggressor’s neck, ready to hex him if he moved.

“Good to know you’re not as stupid as I thought, Potter,” the aggressor drawled.

Harry jerked away as if he’d been burned. “Draco?”

Draco pushed away from the wall and made a show of straightening his robes. Harry almost rolled his eyes, but this was the first time Draco talked to him in more than a week, and he didn’t want to risk it.

“Great observation skills.”

This time, Harry _did_ roll his eyes. “I was surprised. You don’t usually drag me into alcoves.”

The low light coming from the opening was enough for Harry to see the blush on Draco’s cheeks. “Yes, well. You’re not usually so stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dropping Potions? Really? Are you crazy?”

So that was why Draco was talking to him. It figured. “I’m not. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t. You can’t drop Potions. You won’t be able to be an Auror, or a teacher, if you don’t have your Potions N.E.W.T.”

“Then I’ll find something else to do. Hell, I don’t even _have_ to work if I don’t want to. I have enough money.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course. I’m sure people will be surprised at how lazy the Savior really is.”

There was a hint of anger and despise in Draco’s voice, something Harry hadn’t heard in a long time, not directed at him. It hurt. “Whatever you think, I’m still dropping Potions. Unless you decided you still want to help me study, of course.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “That’s out of the question. I can’t be near you, not after what happened. I couldn’t stand the—the pity, not coming from you.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Stop it. I can’t help you, but I’m not the only one who can. Ask Granger or even Blaise. If he can teach one Gryffindor not to make his cauldron explode, he can teach two of them.”

Draco turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. He had no idea what was going on, what Draco was talking about, but he’d had enough. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them.

 

****

 

Draco gritted his teeth and turned back to Harry. “What do you want?”

Harry let go of Draco’s wrist and crossed his arms over his chest. “Answers.”

“To what question?”

“I want to know what happened that day when I brewed the Amortentia and you ran away. I want to know why you’ve been avoiding since then.” His stance relaxed, and he looked so vulnerable that Draco wanted to pull in close and tell him everything would be okay.

He didn’t.

“I want to know what I did to make you angry,” Harry continued. “Because I can’t make things right if I don’t know what I did.”

Of course he wanted to make things right. And Draco wanted to let him. It just wasn’t possible.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“The hell you don’t,” Harry snapped, all traces of vulnerability gone. “We’re friends, and friends don’t ignore each other for days.”

Draco arched a brow. “Weasley did back in fourth year.”

“We’re not talking about Ron right now. We’re talking about you and why you’re behaving like this. What did I do, Draco?” Harry hesitated. “Or was it someone else? Did—did someone threatened you? Did they hurt you?”

Draco’s heart broke. Even though he wanted answers, even though he was angry, Harry still cared. If only he could care the way Draco wanted him to, if only he could love Draco the way Draco loved him.

Draco shook his head and straightened. “No one did anything to me.” Well, apart from Garrett, but he was an idiot, and Harry didn’t have to know what had happened. He’d probably try to beat up the guy, and that was the last thing Draco needed him to do.

“Being friends with you was a mistake,” he continued. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s none of your business, Potter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go study. Some of us care about the kind of job they’ll get next year.”

Not that anyone would give Draco any kind of job, but at least he’d have his N.E.W.T.s. He was sure it would help his mother find him a suitable wife.

He turned around and tried to leave again, but Harry grabbed his arm again. Draco wrenched it away. He hated Harry, hated that he was worried and genuinely good, that he wanted them to be friends.

“What?” he snapped.

“I want the truth.”

“I already gave it to you.”

“I don’t believe you. Why shouldn’t we be friends? It has to be because someone threatened to hurt you, or your mother. I can help if you tell me.”

Merlin saved Draco from Saint Potter. “I already told you no one threatened me.”

“Then _why_?”

Draco knew Harry well enough to know he wouldn’t let go, not until he found a satisfying answer. Clearly, Blaise had been right when he’d said Harry didn’t know Draco was in love with him. It made Draco regret acting like he had because there was no way for him to be friends with Harry again without giving him an explanation.

And maybe he should.

He should tell Harry what had happened. Harry would leave him alone then, probably horrified to have his pet Death Eater feeling that way toward him, and Draco wouldn’t blame him.

Everyone already had enough to say about them being friends—the Daily Prophet, the clerk at Flourish and Bots, a random Hufflepuff student. Draco could imagine how worse it would be if anything else happened between them. Not that anything would, because come on, the Savior with a Death Eater? If it had been anyone but him, he’d have laughed himself silly just at the thought.

“Draco.”

“Why don’t you just leave me alone? Why do you have to torture me like this?”

“I’m just trying to be a good friend.” Harry’s expression was soft, worried, and it broke something inside Draco.

“I’m in love with you, all right?” Draco blurted out before he could think about it. “I’m in love with you, have been for years, even when I bullied you and tried to kill you. That’s what the Amortentia thing was about. I smelled treacle tart and broom polish, and how blind do you have to be not to see it? I didn’t believe Blaise when he said you didn’t know what was wrong, but you really don’t, or at least you didn’t until I told you because you wouldn’t bloody leave me—”

Draco knew he’d been ranting, and he wouldn’t have stopped if a pair of lips—Harry’s lips—hadn’t suddenly landed on his own. He tried to move away, but Harry pushed him against the wall without even separating them, and Merlin, what was happening? Had Draco drunk a bad potion? Was he hallucinating?

He rolled his head to the side. His lips were wet where Harry had run his tongue, and Draco licked them, wondering if he could taste Harry on them. He expected Harry to move away, but instead, he pressed his forehead to Draco’s shoulder. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed heavily, and Draco was so confused.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Harry asked, and if that was how he sounded when he kissed, Draco was going to need to kiss him quite a lot more.

“No. Yes. No.”

Harry chuckled and moved to look at Draco. “I’m not sure what you meant.”

Draco swallowed. He’d never thought he’d be in this position, and now he didn’t know how to behave. “No, I don’t want you to stop, but I think we should talk about it.”

Harry’s smirk—and when that he learned to smirk like Draco?—softened. “I know you can’t help but over-analyzing everything, but what is there to say? You’re in love with me, I’m in love with you.”

Draco blinked. “You are?”

“What part of kissing you made think I’m not?”

Draco didn’t even try to resist—he jerked forward, smashing their mouths together. Harry made a little noise that was half surprise, half whimper, and Draco wanted to get him naked right there and then. Then Harry’s tongue touched his, and he forgot everything that wasn’t their mouths, their tongues. He forgot everything that wasn’t Harry and what he’d wanted for so long.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is being an idiot again, and Blaise decides an intervention is in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing up chapter 20 (and I need to reread chapter 19), which should be the last one. I think I'll add an epilogue, but I can't believe the end of this is in sight! Thanks everyone for reading and for the comments!

Harry was kissing Draco. He was kissing Draco Malfoy, and a kiss had never felt so good.

At least while it lasted.

Loud voices right outside the alcove made Draco sprang away from him. His back hit the wall, and he stared at Harry with wide eyes, his hand raising to his mouth to touch his lips. He looked as if he couldn’t believe Harry had kissed him, and Harry shared that feeling.

He’d just kissed Draco bloody Malfoy. He wished he could bask in that feeling, but he could see Draco was about to bolt from the shock and panic in his eyes.

“Draco,” he murmured, hoping to delay the inevitable.

He didn’t.

Draco left the alcove in a rush, his robes billowing behind him. If he hadn’t been blond and gorgeous, he would have looked like a younger Snape, and the thought made Harry shudder. He didn’t go after Draco. He knew Draco well by now, and the only thing he’d get by pushing was to make him close off even more, and maybe a hex or two.

He sighed and leaned down to pick up his bag. He didn’t remember when it had ended up on the floor. He did remember that Slughorn had told him to keep up with Potions, though, which meant he had to write that essay instead of mooning over Draco.

He left the alcove, ignoring the group of the girls—and one boy—giggling at the end of the hallway and made his way to the common room. He’d hoped Ron and Hermione would be in the library since that was where Hermione spent most of her time, but to his dismay, they were working in the common room. Well, Hermione was working. Ron had folded a piece of parchment into a plane and was poking it with his wand, no doubt to try to make it fly. He looked up when Harry entered and poked at the plane a bit too hard. It caught fire, and Harry was glad for the small distraction. Once Ron was done taming the fire and Hermione was done rolling her eyes at him, they both turned their attention to Harry, though.

“Why did you need to talk to Slughorn?” Hermione asked.

Harry should have known she wouldn’t just let it go. “I needed to ask him about the potion.”

“And you couldn’t ask me?”

“I’m just trying to get better, and I know how busy you always.”

Hermione seemed mollified. “That’s true.”

She’d blow up if she knew he was trying to drop Potions, so he kept that to himself. He hoped he’d either manage to continue on his own after the Christmas holidays or that Draco would start helping him again.

He also hoped there would be many more kisses.

He looked down at the table and followed the knots of the wood with his fingertip. Draco had said he was in love with him. Well, it had been more that he’d blurted it out, but still. He’d said it.

Harry had a hard time believing that, what with how Draco had behaved lately. Shouldn’t you want to be with the person you love?

Harry bit his lower lip as he remembered a conversation he’d had with Draco over the summer. He’d told Harry he was expected to marry a witch and have children, and Harry really wasn’t a witch. Not that he even wanted to think about marriage at the age of eighteen, but he knew Draco did, and that Purebloods often got married soon after graduating. Was that why Draco had been avoiding him? Because he knew he was supposed to get married sometime next year, or the year after that?

Just the thought made Harry feel like he couldn’t breathe. He’d known he was in love with Draco for a while, but it had been easier to think about how things could be if they were together rather than how his heart would break if Draco didn’t love him back—or loved him back but married someone else.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry looked at Hermione, wondering how to answer her. “Would you believe me if I say nothing?”

“No.”

Harry sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Does it have to do with Malfoy?” Ron asked. “Because he ran in here five minutes ago as if his arse were on fire.”

Harry couldn’t help it—he looked around. Ron guffawed and squeaked, and from the way he looked at Hermione and reached under the table, Harry knew she’d kicked him. He kissed her on the cheek, feeling just a bit more settled at the thought that she was on his side.

“Why did you kick me?” Ron whined.

“Because you were making fun of Harry.”

“I wasn’t!” Hermione arched a brow. “Fine. I was.” Ron sighed. “Sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “’S okay.”

Hermione waved her wand and murmured, “Muffliato.”

Knowing no one else could hear them wasn’t as comforting as Harry wish it were. He supposed it was time to tell them about his feelings for Draco, though, or at least confirm their suspicions since Harry was pretty sure they knew. At least now he didn’t feel like an idiot for not seeing what everyone else saw.

“I’m in love with Draco,” he said, his gaze on the table.

There was a moment of silence, then Ron squeaked and rubbed his leg again.

“I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to tell us,” Hermione said, glaring at Ron.

Neither of them was surprised, and Harry wasn’t surprised they weren’t.

“You don’t care?” he asked.

“Why should we? You told us we could trust him and that he’d changed, and it was true. I don’t think we’ll ever be best friends, but it doesn’t mean we won’t accept him. We want you to be happy, and if being with him is what it takes, and that’s okay.”

“Yeah, mate. I mean, I might not understand what you see in the git, but then I’m not gay,” Ron added.

Harry couldn’t do more than nod.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Hermione asked.

_Not really._ “After I left Slughorn’s office Draco cornered me. We ended up fighting and, well, he told me he loved me.”

Ron squeaked. Hermione kicked him again.

“And I told him I love him, I think, and we kissed. Then he ran away.”

Ron laughed, apparently not caring about Hermione’s kicks anymore. “He ran away? Mate, I’m sorry to say this, but I think you need to practice your kissing technique. I mean, I still remember you said kissing Cho Chang was wet because she was crying, and you made Malfoy run away.”

Hermione whacked him on the head with the closest book.

“Oww.”

“Shut your mouth, Ronald, or I’ll write to Molly.”

“What? Why?

“To tell her you’re an insensitive little twit.”

Ron raised his hands. “Okay. I’ll shut up.”

“About time.” Hermione looked at Harry again. “Did you and Draco have time to talk?”

Harry wished she’d go back to bickering with Ron. “No. Like I said, he ran away.”

“But he told you he’s in love with you.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then you should talk to him. He probably panicked when he realized you’re in love with him and that being with you isn’t just a wishful thought.”

“How do you know that?”

“Think about it. He’s Draco Malfoy, You’re Harry Potter. It was already quite strange that the two of you were friends. I imagine Draco never thought he could have more, and now that he does, he’s going to have to tell the world how he feels if he wants to be with you, including his parents. I don’t think Lucius Malfoy will take the news too well. Add to that that the Pureblood traditions Draco was raised to follow and being with you is a total 180 from the life he’s had until now and the one he thought he’d have in the future.”

“180?” Ron asked.

Hermione turned to explain what she meant, and Harry thought of what she’d said.

She was right, course. Draco was probably as terrified as Harry was. It wasn’t even because of what people would think, or at least not for Harry. Draco was the first boy, the first man, he really wanted to be with, and as incredible as it sounded, the first man he could see himself have a future with.

Merlin. Talk about a 180.

 

****

 

Draco wasn’t hiding. He just decided to study in Blaise’s bedroom. It wasn’t strange at all, even though he’d closed curtains around Blaise’s bed. He just needed some quiet time to study. It had nothing to do with Harry with what had happened in the alcove. Draco wasn’t even sure why he’d decided to talk to Harry about not giving up on Potions. He didn’t care what Harry did.

He sighed. That was a lie.

Of course he cared. He cared so much it scared him, which was why he was hiding in  Blaise’s room in the first place.

He couldn’t think about Harry right now, though. He had essays to write, chapters to read, things to memorize.

Studying came easy to him, and he enjoyed the Harry-free thinking time. He lost himself in his books, to the point where he squeaked when the curtains jerked sideways. Blaise arched a brow and leaned his shoulder against the frame of the bed. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Draco straightened his back. “I’m not hiding.”

Blaise snorted. “Sure you’re not. That’s why no one has seen you since potions.”

“That was only an hour ago.”

“No. It was three hours ago, Draco. It’s dinner time. That’s why I was looking for you.” Blaise grinned. “And I wasn’t the only one. Potter is behind himself with worry.”

Draco swallowed. “I didn’t realize it was so late. We should go to dinner.”

“Oh, no. You’re going to tell me why you’ve been hiding from Potter, and why you blush every time I say his name.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“And I’m not blind. Come on. Tell me.”

Blaise sat on the bed after making a pile of the books Draco had scattered around.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Blaise didn’t seem to hear Draco. He tapped his fingertip against his jaw. “Mmm. So no one’s seen you since Potions, but Potter was in the common room earlier. Whatever happened between the two of you took place just after class, then. Since he’s been trying to talk to you, I bet he was the one who cornered you, and from your reaction when I say his name, something happened. What, I don’t know, but it has to be more than just a conversation. A kiss?”

Draco looked away before he even realized he was doing it. Sometimes he hated that he felt comfortable enough around Blaise to let his reactions show.

Blaise grinned delightedly. “Oooh, so it was a kiss. He kissed you? Well, good for him. That took some big bollocks.”

“Can you shut up?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re hiding in my bed instead of snogging your boyfriend in the common room.”

Draco gritted his teeth. He loved Blaise, probably more than he loved anyone but his parents—and Harry—but sometimes, he wished he didn’t. With love came vulnerability, and if there was anything Draco hated, it was that. He couldn’t even tell Blaise to fuck off because he wouldn’t obey.

The arse.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he said instead.

“Why not? You kissed. You love him. He loves you.”

“It’s not possible. I’m a Death Eater and a Pureblood, and I have to find—”

“Stop right there. You have to find love. You have to be happy. Period. So go out there and get your man.” Blaise’s voice softened. “You might not think so, but you deserve to be happy.”

Draco shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Then you should stop avoiding Potter and be honest with him.”

Hiding sounded so much better. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Oh no, you won’t. You can’t stay here tonight.”

“I’ll find a place to—”

Blaise waved his wand and Draco’s body froze. He tried to open his mouth, but he couldn’t even do that. His heart beat faster as memories started flashing in his mind, but before he could be lost to the panic, Blaise snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Focus, Draco. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to help you, even though I know you might hate me for it. I petrified you, and I’m going to move you back to your room. Then I’ll tell Potter about this and that he needs to be clear for once. He’ll take care of freeing you.”

Draco glared at Blaise, which was the only thing he could do. But as soon as he got free... Blaise was going to regret being born.

“Oh, stop it,” Blaise said, sounding like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You know everything will be all right, and honestly, it wouldn’t have come to this if you’d been reasonable.”

He waved his wand and Draco rose from the bed. He kept his glare firmly in place as Blaise hovered him back to his bedroom, and when Blaise dumped him onto Harry’s better than his, he decided Blaise would die, possibly in excruciating pain.

Blaise put his wand away and patted Draco’s hand. “You stay here. I’ll go to dinner and find Potter.”

Draco tried to break free, but he couldn’t. He was relieved when he heard Blaise cast several locking spells from the outside of the bedroom. At least the git wasn’t leaving Draco vulnerable to the first vengeful idiot who might walk past the bedroom. Still, knowing that didn’t help as much Draco would have liked, and he was starting to panic again when the door flew open. Draco hadn’t even heard whoever it was remove the spells from the door, and for Blaise’s sake, he hoped it was Harry.

It was.

Draco let himself relax—something that wasn’t easy considering he was bloody petrified—as Harry’s face appeared in front of him.

“That idiot,” Harry muttered as he waved his wand.

Draco felt his body unfreeze. He jerked up, needing to see the rest of the bedroom, but only him and Harry were there.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he tried to move away, but it was only Harry. “Hey, calm down. You’re okay. Merlin, I’m going to kick Zabini’s arse the next time I see him.”

Draco agreed with that. He was going to help.

To his surprise, Harry kissed his forehead. Draco blinked at him, wondering what was happening. Harry blushed and looked away, but his stubborn expression was firmly set on his face, and Draco knew something was about to happen.

He just didn’t know what.

“We need to talk,” Harry said. “I mean, that’s why Zabini did this. I don’t like the way he did it, but he’s right. We have to clarify this—this thing between us.”

Draco decided Harry would probably petrify him again if he tried to leave, so he nodded. The small gesture seemed to spur Harry on.

“Right. So, I’m not sure why you ran earlier, after, you know. After we kissed.”

Merlin. He was adorable. Draco wanted to kiss him again.

“I guess you got scared,” Harry continued. “Which is okay. I’m scared too. I’ve never felt what I feel for you and I didn’t think you, well, that you liked me too.”

Draco snorted. “I don’t like you, Potter. I _love_ you.” Being able to actually say the words was strange but very freeing.

Harry nodded. “I love you too. I already told you that. And since I love you and you love me, I’d like it if we could, you know. Be together. Like a couple.”

Draco swallowed. This was it. He could say no and push Harry away, go back to the life his father had planned for him. Or he could say yes, and he would be loved and happy. It would be easier to say no, but Draco had chosen the easy path all his life. It was time to change. “All right.”

Harry blinked. “All right?”

“You can be my boyfriend.”

Harry smile was blinding as he pounced, pushing Draco against the mattress and smashing their lips together.

They still needed to talk, but it could wait. Draco had dreamed of this moment for years, and he was going to enjoy it, dammit.


	19. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after Harry and Draco finally got their heads out of their arses. Draco still has doubts, but Harry convinces him he's an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I usually post on Saturday, but I'm going on vacation tomorrow and I won't be back until next week, so you're getting this week's chapter early! I'm currently writing the epilogue, so I can tell you there's another chapter after this, then the epilogue, and we're done. I'm kind of sad, but I've had a lot of fun writing this, so maybe I'll write a new fic once this one is done :) I have a lot of ideas, some more serious, some just as fluffy. I just have to choose :)

Harry woke up to a weight on his chest, and it took him a moment to remember. Draco. It was Draco.

They’d spent the night in Harry’s bed, falling asleep after what had felt like hours of kissing and a bit of groping over their clothes.

Because they were boyfriends. Boyfriends kissed and groped each other.

Harry beamed and looked down. The first thing he saw was Draco’s blond hair, and he had to repress a laugh. Even though they’d been sharing a room since September, Harry had never seen a just-out-of-bed Draco. Draco got up incredibly early and spent hours in the bathroom. He was always perfectly put together when he came out of it.

But he was still in bed this morning, still asleep, and his hair looked almost like Harry’s—all over the place.

Harry reached for it and tangled his fingers into the blond strands. He was allowed to do that because Draco was his _boyfriend_.

“I didn’t think you could look any stupider, but I was wrong,” Draco drawled. “That smile looks like it’s stuck on your face.”

That only made Harry smile wider. He could hear the teasing note in Draco’s voice, so he took his words for what they were. He didn’t want Draco to change because they were together. He knew Draco would always be snarky and that being together wouldn’t stop him from saying what he thought, and that was one of the things Harry liked about him. Draco didn’t see him as Harry Potter the Savior, but rather as the bespectacled git he’d been fighting with for the past seven years. He never let Harry get away with anything, and he wasn’t going to start just because they were kissing on a regular basis.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I can see there’s no getting through to you.”

“I’m just happy.”

“Yes, well, not all of us feel the need to smile like idiots when they’re happy. People will notice, and they’ll start asking questions.”

Draco pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair. “We should probably go to breakfast, but I have to do my hair first.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s shirt and pulled him back on top of him to kiss him. He swallowed Draco’s weak protests. Breakfast could wait.

Except it didn’t.

Two pops right next to the bed made Draco squeak and push away as if afraid someone had caught them, and Harry supposed it was true since Tibby and Pip were standing there, each holding a tray, staring at them. Harry sat up and put on his glasses as Draco scrambled off the bed. “Good morning,” he told the elves, wondering why they were there.

“Tibby and Pip have brought Masters their breakfast,” Tibby announced. She pushed her tray into Harry’s hands and stared at him with narrowed eyes until he grabbed a slice of buttered toast and bit into it.

Draco sat on the bed again, his long legs crossed, his tray sitting on them. Pip was cleaning the bedroom, and Harry wondered how rude it would be to ask both him and Tibby to leave. How had they known he and Draco would need breakfast anyway? Were they spying on them? Harry wouldn’t put it past Tibby.

“Thank you, both of you,” Draco said, sounding perfectly calm. “You can leave now. We’ll leave the trays on our desks once we’re done. You can pick them up after we leave to go to class.”

Harry expected Tibby to protest, but apparently, she only had trouble with authority when Harry was the one asking things. She bowed and popped out, Pip right behind her.

“Well, that was awkward,” Harry said.

“It wasn’t. They were merely doing their job.”

“It’s not their job where we’re at school. And why did they bring breakfasts only today?”

“They’re attuned to our needs. They could probably feel we needed some...privacy this morning.”

Harry was horrified. “Can they feel other things?” Like maybe what he and Draco had been doing the night before?

Draco smirked, clearly amused. “Don’t worry about that.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that, but he focused on his breakfast. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, but then he’d missed dinner.

They ate in silence, but Harry could tell Draco had something on his mind, and he wondered if he was going to have to ask him about it. Draco wasn’t the most open person Harry knew. He kept his feelings very close to his heart.

“No one knows what happened between us last night,” Draco finally said.

“Blaise probably suspects.”

“Blaise won’t be breathing for much longer.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll hold him down for you.”

The corner of Draco’s lips twitched. “Thank you. But I wasn’t talking about Blaise. I know you said you want us to be together.”

“And we are. Right?” Draco had agreed, and Harry hoped he hadn’t changed his mind.

Draco nodded once. “We are. But I would understand if you wanted to keep it to ourselves.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“If you wanted our relationship to be private knowledge. I know you had a hard time dealing with the gossip and the rumors after the Daily Prophet found out we were friends. People are still talking about it, and I know some of the students here give your hard time.”

That much was true, although things were slowly getting better. At least no one asked Harry if he’d hit his head or if Draco was blackmailing him anymore. Still, Harry was starting to understand what Draco was suggesting, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Things would be so much worse if they knew how our relationship has changed,” Draco continued. “And it won’t be only the students. I’m sure some of the Ministry people will want to check I’m not giving you a love potion or Imperiusing you.”

“Our lives would be harder if people knew about us.”

Draco looked relieved. “Exactly.”

“And you want us to hide that we’re together.”

Draco grimaced. “It’s not that I want it. I just think it would be easier.”

Harry put his tray onto the nightstand and got up to take Draco’s. Once it was on the floor, Harry knelt in front of Draco, was eyes at one wide, and smiled. “When have I taken the easy way, Draco? I lost my parents when I was one year old. I didn’t find out about magic until I was eleven. I faced Voldemort almost every year since then. I broke up with Ginny and told my friends and family I was gay.”

Draco nodded. “You fell in love with me.”

“That was easy.”

Draco snorted. “Sure.”

“It was, once I managed to get under your Malfoy mask.”

“Sometimes I wonder what you see in me, even when we were only friends. After what I did...”

Harry knew the war and Voldemort would be between them for a while. The memories wouldn’t disappear, but they would fade, and until then, Draco would no doubt be insecure. He could hide it well, but Harry had learned to know him, to read him.

“You’re funny,” Harry said. “Your sense of humor is dry and sometimes scathing, but I like it. You give everything to the people you love. You’re smart, so much more than me. You’re pretty.”

“Only pretty?

“Gorgeous, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Draco finally smiled. “I think I’ll keep you.”

“Thank Merlin. I want to keep you too. But I don’t want us to hide, Draco. I’m not ashamed of you. I don’t care what other people will think or say. But I do understand you might, so if it’s what you really want, we’ll keep it to ourselves. Don’t do it for my sake, though, Draco, because I don’t care.”

Harry gave Draco a few minutes to think. He stroked the back of Draco’s hand, wondering what Draco would say. He was tired of having to deal with people who thought he owed them something just because of who he was and what he'd done, but he wasn’t alone in their relationship.

If Draco wanted to hide, then that was what they’d do.

 

****

 

_Gah._ Could Harry make Draco feel guiltier? He’d thought Harry would agree with him, but he should have known better. Like Harry had said, he’d never done anything the easy way. It figured he’d want to do the same with their relationship.

If Draco was honest, he didn’t want to hide either. He’d never cared about what most people thought of him. The only people who mattered—his mother, Blaise, his aunt Andromeda—already knew or suspected. His father didn’t, as far as Draco knew, and he wasn’t looking forward to his next letter, but it wasn’t going to stop him. He loved his father, flaws and all, but he wasn’t part of his life anymore.

So no, Draco didn’t care what everyone thought. Actually, he was kind of looking forward to having people envy him. He’d managed to snag the Savior, and he hadn’t even tried. People were going to be so angry and jealous.

“All right,” he finally said. “But no big announcement. We won’t hide, but I also don’t want this to be a big deal. No article on the Daily Prophet, no announcement in the Great Hall during dinner.”

Harry laughed. “You know I’m not the big announcement type. As for the Daily Prophet, well, I can’t control what they write, and we both know they’ll find out about us sooner rather than later.”

He bit his lower lip, and Draco wondered if they had time to snog for a bit. Probably not. They’d woken up early enough to have time to eat and talk, but they’d be late if they wasted more time.

“We should probably talk to Luna,” Harry said.

Had Draco missed something? “About?”

“Her father owns the Quibble. The Daily Prophet will want an interview and turn what we say any way they want. Luna won’t. She’ll write exactly what we ask her to write. It won’t stop the Daily Prophet from writing lies, but it’s better than nothing.”

Draco wasn’t sure about that, considering what he knew of Lovegood, but Harry seemed to think it was a good idea, and he was one with experience with the press. “All right. I have to write to my mother, though. I can’t have her finding out through the Daily Prophet.”

Not that she read it. She’d never cared much about gossip, and after the way the Prophet, Skeeter especially, had come after their family, she wouldn’t pick up a copy even she was paid.

Draco hoped she’d take it well. He thought she probably already knew—Blaise certainly seemed to think so, and what she’d said before he left for school reinforced that. Still, Draco couldn’t help but be slightly scared. It was one thing to tell her he liked men in general, but it was another to tell her he was in love with the man who had put her husband in prison for the rest of his life.

Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he squeezed Draco’s hand. “What do you think she’ll say? She didn’t seem to have a problem with me back in August.”

“I don’t think she’ll throw out me or disinherit me if that’s what you’re asking.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You know you won’t be alone even if she does, right? Your aunt likes you, and I have plenty of room in my house.”

_Merlin._ It was no wonder Draco had fallen in love with Harry. How could he have resisted?

He leaned over and kissed Harry, enjoying the surprise in his eyes and the slight blush on his cheeks. “What was that for?”

Draco arched a brow. “I need a reason to kiss my boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

“For what?”

“Everything.” Draco had first approached him because he felt the need to repay his debts, but he wasn’t sure he had. What he _was_ sure of was that Harry hadn’t cared about that before, and he didn’t care now, either. There were no more debts between them.

“We should go,” Draco murmured. “Or we’ll be late for Transfiguration.”

Harry grimaced. “I hope we won’t have to transfigure our mouse into a cat again. It didn’t go too well last time.”

Draco kissed his cheek, just because he could. “You can sit with me. I’ll help you.”

It took them another ten minutes to finally be ready for class. Draco couldn’t seem to keep his hands—and his lips—away from Harry, and who would blame him?

He wasn’t surprised to find Granger, Weasley, Blaise, and Longbottom waiting for them in the otherwise empty common room. They all looked up as one, and even though Harry and Draco weren’t even touching, Blaise beamed.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, holding his hand out at Granger. Draco blinked as she took a galleon out of her pocket and pressed it to Blaise’s palm. He slid it into his own pocket and winked at Longbottom. “I’ll take you out Saturday night.”

Longbottom seemed amused. “You wouldn’t have if you hadn’t won the bet?”

“We would have had fun in the castle.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, leaving no doubt as to what that fun would have included. Longbottom blushed and looked down at his hands, but Draco intervened before Blaise could say anything more. They didn’t need details.

“What was that galleon for?” he asked.

“Oh, Hermione and I had a bet going. She thought you’d be too stubborn to give in last night, but I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist Potter, not when he acted like your knight in shining armor.”

“We might not be together.”

Blaise snorted. “The hickey on your neck tells another story.”

Draco’s hand flew to his neck, and Blaise laughed. “I was joking. Your reaction told us what you got up to last night.”

“Remind me to kill you in your sleep.”

“Neville will protect me.”

The thought of finding Blaise and Longbottom in bed together was enough for Draco to let go of his nightly killing plans. “Shall we go?”

He eyed Granger and Weasley as they all walked toward the classroom. He hadn’t realized they knew about him and Harry, and he wondered why they weren’t trying to get him away. Not that Draco would let go of him, but surely couldn’t agree with their relationship.

He leaned toward Harry. “You should probably talk to Granger and Weasley.”

“Why?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They know. I talked to them yesterday and told them I’m in love with you.”

“And neither of them tried to convince you to go to Saint Mungo? Or to check your food for a love potion?”

Harry chuckled. “They weren’t even surprised. I guess I’m pretty transparent or something. They realized how I felt on their own, and they had time to get used to it. Ron doesn’t understand why it has to be you, but that’s all he has to say about it. What about Zabini?”

Draco looked away. “He knew before I did.” Or before Draco had let himself admit it anyway.

“Then everything is okay.”

For now, Draco thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. He could imagine how things would go—Harry would somehow out them to the school. The students would suspect Draco of controlling him, and they’d insult him, maybe even try to hurt him. Some of them would also contact the Daily Prophet, and the news would be all over the wizarding world by the following day. The Ministry would try to stick their nose into it, and Harry would send them to hell.

Of course, next to what Draco had gone through during the war, it was nothing. He wasn’t happy about the current situation, but he supposed his Malfoy mask hadn’t been used much lately.

Draco was stronger than he’d thought. He’d survived the Dark Lord living in his home. He could survive glares, whispers, and Rita Skeeter.


	20. Revelio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where more than one revelation happen--including who attacked Draco in his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue to go! Anything you'd like to see in particular? I already started writing it, and it's set on Christmas, first at the Manor, then at the Burrow (try to imagine Draco wearing a Weasley sweater!)

Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for dinner, and Harry didn’t to try to stop himself—he looked around, searching for Draco. He was sitting with Blaise at the end of the Slytherin table, like always, or at least like he had until what Harry now called the Amortentia Revelation. Harry grinned, happy to see his boyfriend of a day. He knew Pip had probably fed Draco when he’d missed lunch or dinner over the past few weeks, but Harry had missed seeing him in the Great Hall

He started to walk toward him, but Ron stopped him. “Where are you going?”

“To sit with Draco.”

Ron blinked. “But he’s at the Slytherin table.”

“I noticed.”

“You can’t sit with the snakes!”

Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes at the same time. “Ron, I slept with a snake in my bed last night,” Harry pointed out.

Ron slapped his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear that!”

“You can stay here, then,” Hermione said. She took Harry’s hand and dragged him toward Draco.

Harry went willingly, amused when Ron followed them and even more when Neville got up from his spot at the Gryffindor table, grabbed his plate, and followed along.

Draco and Zabini were talking when Harry and Hermione stopped next to them, but Zabini noticed them and elbowed Draco just as Harry flopped onto the bench on his other side.

Draco arched a brow. “Are you lost?”

“Nope.” Harry started filling his plate as his friends sat down.

Neville took the spot in front of Zabini, with Hermione next to him and Ron on her other side. Ron looked uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for the roast chicken.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked.

“Don’t you see?” Zabini asked. “It’s an invasion. The Gryffindors are invading us.”

“Hush,” Neville said. “We can go back to our table if you want.” He reached across the table and pressed his hand on top of Zabini’s. “Is that what you want?”

Draco made a retching sound. “You two are so sweet, it makes me want to throw up.”

“As if you weren’t doing the same thing just this morning,” Harry teased.

“I have much more dignity. I don’t flirt at the dinner table.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ron muttered between two bites of chicken.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I _don’t_. I have more dignity than—” Harry cut him off with a brief kiss on the lips. Draco blinked and looked at him. “What was that?”

“A kiss.”

“In the middle of the Great Hall? During dinner?”

Harry shrugged and speared a potato. “I wanted to kiss my boyfriend. We decided we’d behave like we want.”

“We also decided not to make a big announcement.”

“It was just a kiss.”

“It’s never just a kiss with you, Harry.”

To Harry’s surprise, Draco sounded amused more than angry. The voices around them were slowly rising, and Harry knew they’d been seen—which had been his goal. “Have you written to your mother?”

“This morning.”

“Did she answer?”

Draco scowled. “Apparently, she had a bet going on with Blaise’s mother. Mrs. Zabini thought you were going to have to chase me down after school ended in June.”

Harry pressed his lips together. Draco would get angry if he laughed, no matter how funny the situation was. Harry could almost see it, Mrs. Malfoy betting with Zabini’s other on Draco’s love life. “She’s okay with it, then?”

Draco sighed dramatically. “Expect to start receiving chocolate and sweets and to be invited to spend Christmas with us.”

Oh. Harry hadn’t thought about that. He’d assumed he’d spend the holidays with the Weasleys, but he didn’t know how they’d react to the news of his relationship with Draco.

“As long as Harry’s with us on Christmas Day,” Ron said. “Mum’s already decided we should go home, you know, since it’s our first Christmas without Fred.”

Hermione made a soothing sound and patted his hand.

It was almost easy to forget about the war sometimes, when Harry focused on school and his friends. He could lose himself in being a normal guy, at least until something reminded him of someone he’d lost or something that had happened during the battle.

Draco cleared his throat. “I’m sure we can arrange something. Besides, mother hasn’t invited Harry yet.”

“But she already loves Harry,” Blaise declared.

Harry remembered the conversation he’d had with Draco’s mother that summer. It had been awkward and uncomfortable, and he’d felt like prey the entire time as if Narcissa had been seizing him up to make a Harry stew. He wasn’t sure how Blaise had come to the conclusion that she liked him, but he wasn’t about to discuss it at dinner, or ever, really.

Harry could feel the tension and the expectation in the room growing as if everyone was waiting for dinner to be over to start asking questions—and they probably were.

He knocked his shoulder against Draco’s to get his attention, leaning closer when he had it. “Want to go back to the common room now?”

Draco looked around and grimaced. “You can’t help making a spectacle of yourself, can you?”

It was true everyone would notice them leaving. All the students in the Great Hall were still sitting at the tables, eating. Harry thought it was worth it. “It’s not like they’re looking at us already.”

Draco sighed. “All right. Let’s go.”

Their friends just nodded as they left their seats. The level of noise in the Great Hall lowered, then rose again as they started walking toward the door. Harry took Draco’s hand, ignoring the gasps and whispers—and Draco’s roll of eyes. Harry had just come out to the school, both as gay—or bisexual, he still wasn’t a hundred percent sure—and as Draco’s boyfriend. He deserved some PDA.

The noise in the Great Hall became deafening as soon as the door closed behind them, isolating them from most of the school. Harry relaxed. He’d known what would happen when he’d decided to kiss Draco in the Great Hall, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“That was very... you,” Draco said as they walked toward the common room.

“What do you mean?”

“Brash, impulsive. Honest. Like I said, very you.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I wasn’t brash, impulsive, and honest.”

“Mmm, probably not. I think it’s safe to say I am not entirely sane of mind.”

“You’re perfectly fine.”

Harry heard the Great Hall door opening and closing in the distance, but he didn’t pay attention to it until he heard footsteps running toward them. They were halfway to the common room, in a part of the castle most students never visited.

The wall on Draco’s side exploded, debris raining down on them as Harry pushed Draco away. He pointed his wand toward their attacker, but he froze when he saw Parvati Patil, her wand out, her black hair out of its braid, her eyes wide and slightly manic.

She reacted before Harry could, blasting another stretch of wall right where Draco had been standing. Harry’s heart stuttered, but Draco was there, standing next to him, his wand ready.

Harry turned his attention back to Parvati. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you.”

Harry blinked. He’d never talked much with her, not even when they’d attended the Yule Ball back in fourth year. Why was she suddenly so worried about him? “I don’t need to be saved.”

“He’s controlling you. He’s forcing you to—to be with him.”

“And how would I do that?” Draco drawled, and Harry thought it would be a good idea for him shut up. Parvati looked a little wild, like anything might trigger her into hexing them again.

“Imperius.”

For a moment, Harry thought she’d cast an Unforgivable. Then he realized that was her answer.

Draco laughed, and the sound was cruel, more Malfoy than Draco. “You know as well as I do that Harry can resist the Imperius curse.”

“Then you found another way, another spell. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll finish what I started and save him.”

 

****

 

Draco couldn’t say he’d expected Parvati Patil of all people to have been who had sneaked into his room and tortured him. He barely knew her, although he supposed she didn’t need to know him to hate him.

“Wait,” Harry said. “What do you mean, finish what you started?”

Merlin, Harry could be an adorable idiot sometimes.

“She was the one who attacked me in my room,” Draco answered. Wasn’t it obvious?

“But why? We weren’t together back then.”

“She died because of him!” Parvati yelled.

Draco wasn’t sure if Harry was intentionally making her talk to waste time, but he’d had enough. “ _Expelliarmus._ ”

Patil’s wand flew toward Draco. She looked stunned for a second, then she screamed and ran toward Draco, her hands curled into claws as if she wanted to scratch Draco’s eyes out.

Luckily for him, Harry was there, stunning her. She fell to the floor, and Draco couldn’t look away. He knew he should be relieved. He’d found out who his attacker was and she’d been stopped. Yet the only thing he felt was guilt.

“Who did she lose?” he asked.

Harry created a Patronus and send it to the Great Hall, no doubt to fetch the headmistress. Then he took Parvati’s wand from Draco’s hand. “I can’t be sure, but I think she might have been talking about Lavender Brown. She died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Greyback killed her.”

Draco shivered. He hated Greyback, could remember his silent threats when he’d lived at the Manor with the Dark Lord. He wouldn’t have attacked without the Dark Lord’s order, but Draco hadn’t been sure such an order would never be given.

“She blames me.”

He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t been the one who’d let Greyback in, not during the battle, but it was impossible to forget he’d helped back in sixth year.

“You had nothing to do with Lavender’s death,” Harry said, his voice steady and firm.

Draco knew he meant that, but he wasn’t sure he could believe him.

Harry was stopped from saying anything else when Prof. McGonagall, followed by Weasley, Granger, Longbottom, and Blaise, turned around the corner. Granger and Weasley rushed to Harry’s side to make sure he was in one piece, while Blaise stopped by Draco.  “What happened?” Prof. McGonagall asked.

Draco was glad when Harry answered for both of them. “She attacked us. She tried to kill Draco, blasted the walls instead. She was the one who attacked know Draco that first night.”

The nurse appeared, rushing toward them, going straight to Patil.

“Did she say why?” the headmistress asked as she took Parvati’s wand from Harry.

“Something about someone dying. I think she meant Lavender. She blames Draco.”

Draco tensed, wondering if Prof. McGonagall was going to blame him, too, but she just nodded and turned to the nurse.

 “Take her to the hospital wing. I’ll contact the Aurors.” She looked at Harry and Draco again. “They’ll want to talk to you, but I’ll ask them to wait until tomorrow. You need rest.”

“I should examine them,” the nurse said.

There was no way Draco was spending the night in the hospital wing. “We’re all right. She never managed to hex us.”

The nurse didn’t look convinced, but she left, Patil in tow, floating behind her.

“I told Mr. Smith that he’ll be expelled if he attacks you again,” Prof. McGonagall said out of nowhere, and it took Draco a second to realize she was talking about the Gryffindor idiot who had attacked him twice. He’d hoped Harry would never find out about that, but from Harry’s expression, he was going to want all the details as soon as they were alone.

Just what Draco needed.

“Thank you,” he said because no matter what Harry would do, Prof. McGonagall was doing what she could to keep Draco safe.

“You should all go back to your common room.” She paused and looked from Draco to Harry. “I can’t say I expected the two of you to end up in a romantic relationship. I don’t think anyone could have. It’s good to see you at peace with each other, though, and you both deserve the happiness.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

Prof. McGonagall left, either to follow the nurse to the hospital wing or to firecall the Aurors.

Draco and the other silently walked back to the common room. It was still empty, but they climbed the stairs to the dorm rooms anyway, gathering in Harry and Draco’s room.

Weasley flopped onto Harry’s bed. The others followed suit, sitting around. Draco and Harry sat on Draco’s bed, and Harry took one of Draco’s hands.

“So. That happened,” Weasley said.

Blaise snorted.

Granger looked at had Draco. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” It was weird to see Granger worried about him. He would never have thought something like that could be possible, not even after he’d become friends with Harry. He supposed they needed to get used to being in each other’s life, considering neither of them was about to let go of Harry.

“I never realized Parvati was nuts,” Weasley said.

While Draco shared that opinion, he agreed with Granger when she scolded him.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Granger snapped.

“What? She tried to kill Draco for something he had nothing to do with.”

Draco blinked. Had Weasley just called him _Draco_? What was happening? Draco could come to terms with being friendly with Granger, but he didn't think he’d ever be able to think of Weasley as Ron. Just the thought made him shudder.

“The war was hard on her,” Granger continued. “She lost Lavender, and you know they were best friends.”

“I lost my brother, yet you don’t see me attacking Draco at night.”

Draco was almost completely sure something had happened to him. Maybe he’d fallen and hit his head. Maybe he was unconscious and dreaming this.

“She clearly needs help. I’m not going to deny that. It doesn’t mean you have to talk about her that way.”

Weasley raised his hands. “All right. Want to talk about something else? Like how Harry just announced to the entire school he’s in a gay relationship with Draco?”

Draco groaned. He’d rather talk about Patil again.

Harry chuckled and wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him closer and kissed his temple. Weasley made a small strangled noise, so Draco grinned and kissed Harry right on the lips. That would teach Weasley to talk about their relationship.

And to call him Draco.

“Want to take a bet?” Blaise asked.

“What on?”

“How many howlers Draco gets tomorrow morning.”

“Why would he get howlers?”

“Because I have no doubt half the students are writing to the Daily Prophet right now. They’ll have an article out in the morning edition, and Draco and Potter will have letters arriving for them at breakfast. Probably not as much as they’ll get the next days, but still. We can bet on that.”

Draco really wanted to strangle Blaise, but his choice was between doing that and snuggling close to Harry.

He could take care of Blaise another day.


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at the Manor and the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This fic is finally done! I went with what I'd planned for the epilogue since no one asked for anything in particular. I have other fics planned, but I'm not sure if or when I'll write them. I didn't expect writing this to take so much of my time, even though it was only one chapter a week. I was floored by the many kudos and comments, though, so who knows? Maybe I'll start writing again after the summer :)  
> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, given kudos. I don't think I would have finished this if you hadn't been there :)

Harry felt underdressed, but he hadn’t known Draco would drag him to the manor’s family sitting room as soon as he opened his eyes. He would have slept in his jeans he had, but as it was, he had to give Narcissa his Christmas wishes wearing his pajamas. At least they were decent, with no holes and the right size.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Malfoy.”

She was wearing a long, white robe, and Harry wondered if it was what she slept in. Thinking that she’d let Harry see her in her nightgown—even if it was Christmas morning—was ridiculous, but Draco still wore his gray silk pajamas, so Harry supposed it was possible.

“I already told you to call me Narcissa,” Narcissa said, kissing Draco on the cheek and turning toward Harry. “And Merry Christmas, to both of you.”

To Harry’s surprise, she kissed him as well. It wasn’t Mrs. Weasley’s motherly hugs, but it made Harry feel accepted anyway.

“Narcissa, then.”

“You should go with Draco, or he might open your presents, too.”

Both the Weasleys and Narcissa invited Harry to spend the Christmas holidays with them. Harry hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, say was glad they’d found a compromise. He was sleeping at the manor, now fully renovated, but he’d visited the Weasleys a few times already, and he, Draco, and Narcissa would have Christmas dinner with them at the Burrow. It could end either in a disaster or in a nice family Christmas, and Harry still wasn’t sure which way the day would go. He hadn’t had the occasion—or rather, the courage—to talk about his relationship with Draco with them, even though they knew. The Daily Prophet had taken care of that today after Harry had kissed Draco in the Great Hall.

Things had gone as well as Harry had expected. There had been hundreds of howls and messages, most of them either berating him for being gay and/or in a relationship with Draco. Some had been howlers, and Prof. McGonagall had blocked the post addressed to Harry and Draco after the third one had exploded over breakfast. Harry didn’t want to read them anyway. The ones that told him he could choose whatever he wanted to be with or those that said he was an inspiration, Harry didn’t mind, but he didn’t care what people he didn’t know thought of him.

Molly had written, telling him she expected Draco for Christmas. She hadn’t gone into details about how she and the others Weasleys had taken it, but since they’d have Christmas dinner with them, he was pretty sure they were least accepting, if not happy for him. He hadn’t dared asked, not even when he’d been at the Burrow recently. He’d mostly visited Ron and Ginny anyway, and he already knew how _they_ felt about it.

All in all, things had gone like he’d thought—and Blaise had won the bet again.

Harry looked at Draco, who was kneeling beside the Christmas tree, dividing the presents into three piles. Harris was surprised to see all three were more or less the same height, for the moment anyway. He’d thought Draco was dividing them by who the presents were for, but he could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Like with Parvati.

Harry had always thought of her as the cute, nice, gossipy girl he’d asked to the Yule Ball. They’d never really been friends, but they both been Gryffindors, so they’d shared classes and the common room. He never would have thought she could do what she’d done.

He was ashamed of the fact that he’d never thought much of Lavender’s death. He’d been sorry and horrified, but he’d had his own losses, and they had been more important than a girl he’d barely known. He wished he’d paid more attention now, wondering if he could have avoided Parvati’s situation. As it was, she was still in Saint Mungo, being treated for PTSD and mental breakdown. Not that Harry had been told any details since he wasn’t in a family member and Parvati’s doctors seemed to be one of the few who didn’t trip over her own feet to make him happy.

“Harry? Are you going to open your presents, or shall I do it for you?” Draco asked.

Harry blinked at him. The piles on the floor in front of him were gone. One of them was now sitting next to Narcissa on her couch, another was still at Draco’s feet, and the third was in front of Harry.

Draco had already started opening his, and Harry noticed a scarf and a set of hair products next to him.

Harry sat on the floor, crossing his legs and gently taking a gift on top of the pile. He hadn’t expected this pile to be as big as Draco’s, yet it was. He opened a box of homemade biscuits from Hagrid, a book on magical careers and how to choose one from Hermione, a box of sweets from Ron. He was about to open a soft package wrapped in white paper when Draco exclaimed, “What _is_ this?”

Harry looked up and laughed. Draco was Holding a piece of fabric in front of his chest, looking down at it. The sweater Molly had made him was Slytherin green with a big silver D on the front.

“It’s a Weasley sweater.”

Draco looked up. “A what?”

“A Weasley sweater. Molly knits one for every member of her family for Christmas.”

“And she expects them to _wear_ them?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “They do, and happily.” That might not be completely true, but he wasn’t going to let Draco be rude to Molly. She’d expect him to wear it that evening, and he would, even if Harry had to wrestle him down and force him to.

“You’re not saying _I_ have to wear it, are you?”

“Of course, you’ll wear it,” Narcissa said. “And I’ll wear mine. Mrs. Weasley worked hard to do this for us and to make us feel like family. The least we can do is honor that.”

“She made you a sweater?”

Harry shared Draco surprise. Narcissa raised a pale pink bundle from her lap, and Harry smiled at Draco’s outraged whine. Narcissa’s sweater wasn’t a sweater but a cardigan with pearly buttons. Her initials were embroidered over the heart in silver, and it looked like something she might have bought in a store. It suited her, and Harry knew Molly had put a lot of work in it. “It’s lovely.”

Narcissa beamed at him. “Isn’t it? And it’s so soft.”

Draco was still grumbling, so Harry reached for the package that held how own sweater—there were golden snitches on the wrap, and he’d learned how soft the package always was by now. He wasn’t surprised to find he’d gotten a red sweater with a golden H, and he put it on right away. He loved Molly’s sweaters. It was something a mother did, and the fact that she did for him made him happy.

The sweater smelled of the Burrow, of home—apple pie and cinnamon, laundry detergent, old wood, and fire.

Draco was looking at Harry with a peculiar expression when Harry looked up. “Why don’t we go back upstairs?” he asked. “We can get dressed for breakfast.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he really meant that or they were going to stay undressed for a while, but he nodded. Whatever Draco had planned, he was all for it. He was a nineteen-years-old boy after all.

But instead of snogging and getting naked, once they were in the bedroom Draco went straight for his nightstand. He took something out of the drawer and turned to face Harry, but for some reason, he didn’t look him in the eyes as he said, “I have something for you.”

He thrust a small box into Harry’s hands. Harry looked down at it, that at Draco again. “What is it?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “A gift. You’re supposed to open it.”

So Harry did.

He wasn’t expecting what he found inside. It was a small pendant attached to a long, silver chain. His breath hitched when he took the pendant out and looked at it more closely.

It was a crest. There was a human skull on top, a hand holding a wand under it, and three birds. It was a bit macabre, but Harry didn’t care because it was the Black crest. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Mother. She’s a Black, you know.”

Harry snapped his head up. “I can’t take this from her.”

“She wants you to have it. It was her cousin’s.”

“Sirius?”

“Yes. He gave it to her when he was disowned by his family. She apparently was his favorite cousin.”

Harry didn’t find that hard to believe considering the alternative. He supposed Sirius hadn’t had a lot of contact with Andromeda since she was older and had left her family when she was young. “Thank you.”

Draco hugged, kissing his cheek as he moved away. “It belongs to you. I’m just giving it back.”

Harry knew that wasn’t why Draco had given him the pendant, but he also knew Draco would be uncomfortable if he pointed out he’d done a nice thing.

So he kissed him instead.

 

****

 

Draco wrinkled his nose at his reflection and pulled at the bottom of the sweater he was wearing. He’d paired it with a pair of black slacks, black shoes, and a white shirt, but nothing changed the fact that it looked exactly like what he was—a handmade sweater. It could have been worse, of course. Mrs. Weasley could have picked red and gold like she had for Harry’s.

“You look great,” Harry said as he entered Draco’s walk-in closet. “Just like always.”

“Of course I look great. I’m a Malfoy.”

Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s cheek. “That you are. Are you ready?”

“Depends.” Draco already knew he wasn’t getting out of wearing the sweater, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

“And what does it depend on?”

“I could swap the sweater with robes, or even another sweater.”

Harry grinned. “Nope. You’re wearing the sweater. You heard your mother. She’s wearing hers, and I am, too.”

“But she has a cardigan.”

“No whining. Now come on. Narcissa is waiting for us.”

Knowing he wasn’t getting out of it, Draco followed Harry after one last glance at his reflection.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to dinner at the Weasley’s. He liked Hermione and tolerated boy Weasley, and even the girl Weasley, but he didn’t know what the others would think—or do—to him. Mrs. Weasley had been the one who’d invited Draco and his mother, and she’d assured him everything would be fine, but could it really be true? What would Bill Weasley thing of having to eat turkey at the same table as Draco? And George Weasley? Would even be able to stand to be in the same room?

“Relax,” Harry whispered as they walked down the stairs. “They’re not going to eat you.”

“No, but they could hex me, maim me, or even kill me.” And barely anyone would care.

The wizarding world might have reluctantly accepted Draco’s relationship with Harry, but it didn’t mean they’d accepted _him_.

“They know I love you. I’m not saying every single instant will be comfortable and happy, but they’ll give you a chance. They’re my family. They want me to be happy, and they know I am with you.”

Draco hoped that was true because he was seconds away from deciding he had a fever and staying home. Harry seemed to read his mind and grabbed his hand as they reached the entrance. Draco’s mother was already there, wearing a silver gown, her cardigan, and a heavy cloak. She didn’t have to say anything for Draco to know she was annoyed at his tantrum, so he kept his mouth shut and put on his cloak, following her and Harry outside.

Harry offered him one of his arms, and his mother took the other one. They apparated away—Harry had been added to the Manor’s wards when they’d arrived for the holiday break.

Draco blinked, and a house appeared in front of him—if it could even be called a house. It looked like someone had taken a basic home and had added bits and rooms without caring about how it would look. And the Weasley probably didn’t. It was their home, no matter what Draco thought of it.

The door flew open before could reach it, and a stream of noisy people came out. They all rushed to Harry’s side, and Draco tried to move away from him, both to give them space and to avoid getting their attention. Harry didn’t let go of him, though, and Draco found himself overwhelmed by Weasleys. He got a mouthful of bushy hair when Hermione threw herself into his arms.

“I’m so glad you could make it!”

“We were invited.”

She leaned away. “I know that, but I thought you’d find a reason not to come.”

Draco would never tell her he’d thought about it and had tried to convince both Harry and his mother it would be better if he stayed home. “I would never be so rude.”

Something in Hermione’s answering smile told Draco she didn’t believe him. “Come on. Let’s go inside. Molly invited Andromeda and Teddy, and I’m sure you’re eager to see them again.”

Draco couldn’t help himself—he grinned. He’d written to his aunt every week since he’d gone back to school, but he’d missed his weekly date with Teddy.

Somehow, Draco and his mother were shepherded into the house. Draco had expected the inside to reflect the outside, and it did, but instead of the dirty, messy interior he’d thought he’d see, it was...homey.

The entire house smelled of food, there was a Christmas tree with a few gifts under it in the corner of the living room, it was warm and filled with people and soft music. It was nothing like Draco was used to, nothing like his house, but he could understand why Harry loved it so much. It felt like family, something the Manor was only now starting to feel like. It had taken Draco having the Dark Lord in his house and being able to redecorate the rooms to rid them of the evilness to make it feel like his.

“Nice sweater, Draco.”

Draco turned to look at Weasley. “I know. Your mother is an excellent knitter.”

Weasley blinked. He’d probably expected Draco to whine about the sweater, but Draco wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He looked around, searching for Mrs. Weasley, striding toward her when he found her in the kitchen. He took the basket his mother had made sure was prepared out of his pocket, holding it out. “Thank you for having us, Mrs. Weasley. My mother and I are honored to be invited to such a private family celebration.”

Mrs. Weasley blushed, and Draco shot Weasley a triumphant glance. “You didn’t have to bring anything, Draco dear,” she said, her hands fluttering around the basket.

Draco inclined his head. “It was the least I could do after your invitation and the gifts you sent for my mother and me.”

Mrs. Weasley finally took the basket. “Thank you. And please, make yourself at home. I know our past isn’t the easiest, but you and your mother are as good as family. And call me Molly.”

That much was true. No matter how much hate there had been between their families in the past, they seemed well on the path to being tightly linked. Harry, who was the Weasleys honorary son, was Teddy’s Godfather, and Teddy was Draco’s cousin. As if that wasn’t enough, Draco and Harry were together.

Mrs. Weasley—Molly—bustled Draco out of the kitchen, where his mother and Andromeda were already helping and softly talking. He found himself in the living room, and of course, everyone turned to look at him.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were sitting in a corner, Teddy in Harry’s arms. Ginny was sitting on the couch, sandwiched between a man with scars on his face who had to be Bill, and George. Next to Bill sat the blond French girl who’d participated in the Triwizard tournament in fourth year. Mr. Weasley was in an armchair, talking with another two redheads.

Merlin. Most of the room was red. Even Teddy’s hair had taken that color, and Draco wished he would go back to his natural brown—or even the blue he liked so much.

“Draco,” Harry said, smiling warmly. “Come sit with us.”

Draco wasn’t about to protest. He could still feel eyes on him, but he’d always been watched, first by his father, then by most of the school, the Dark Lord, the press, the Wizengamot. This was one of the least hostile places he'd been recently.

Teddy reached for Draco when Draco sat next to Harry, and Harry handed him over. Draco smirked when Teddy’s hair changed to blond.

“You’re doing great,” Harry whispered.

“Well, no one has tried to kill me yet.”

“And no one will. I talked to Ron when you were in the kitchen. George isn’t particularly happy to have you here, but he agreed to give you a chance. Bill said he doesn’t have anything against you, and Percy and Charlie don’t either. You can relax. It’ll take time, but I have no doubt you’ll become part of the family.”

Draco nodded. He had every intention to do just that. He loved Harry, and he knew they’d be together for a while, forever if he had anything to say about it. Harry would be his family, and with him came the Weasleys.

Draco could deal with that.


End file.
